THE  LOCUSTS'  YEARS 


By  the  time  they  had  crossed  the  cocoanut  grove  and  had  gained  the  beach, 
it  was  evident  that  the  boat  was  making  for  the  island 

[Page  179] 


THE    LOCUSTS'    YEARS 


BY 
MARY   HELEN   FEE 

AUTHOR  OF 
A     woman's    impressions    op     the     PHILIPPINES,     ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

CHARLES  SARKA 


'.'>:'':'  > ' 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1912 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1912 


Published   October,  1912 


Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


PKESS   OF   THE   VAIL  -COMJIANT 
COSHOCTON,   U.   S.  ▲. 


TO  MY   BROTHER 


268955 


THE  LOCUSTS'  YEARS 

CHAPTER  I 

WHEN  a  man  has  reached  the  point  where 
he  can  reflect,  with  cynical  satisfaction, 
upon  the  brutality  of  organized  society, 
and  can  contemplate  unmoved  one  of  its  victims; 
and  when  the  cause  of  his  reflections  is  a  woman  not 
over  thirty,  whose  worth  and  refinement  are  obvious 
to  any  reader  of  faces,  that  man  either  must  possess 
a  coarse-grained  and  cruel  nature,  or  he  must  be 
very  highly  civilized. 

No  shade  of  doubt  could  have  entered  Judge 
Alexander  Barton's  mind  as  to  which  of  these 
adjectives  applied  to  him.  He  would  have  repudi- 
ated the  faintest  hint  that  a  taint  of  coarseness  or 
cruelty  could  lie  in  him.  His  was  one  of  those 
eminent  poHtical  personaUties  which  bubble  up 
from  the  great  caldron  of  American  democracy. 
He  had  convictions  and  principles  of  a  high  order. 
They  appeared  frequently  in  the  shape  of  addresses 
to  young  men's  political  and  reading  clubs,  or  in  a 

[9] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

*^f  ew  reiiiarks"  at  church  socials,  where  a  programme 
of  songs  and  recitations  was  followed  by  the  dis- 
tribution of  home-made  cakes  and  candies,  and  of 
uninspiriting  beverages.  It  was  sometimes  re- 
marked of  him  in  that  other  world  which  he 
frequented  that  his  conscientiousness  in  attending 
these  mild-flavored  symposia  was  the  indisputable 
evidence  of  his  fitness  to  adorn  the  roster  of  the 
Philippine  judiciary.  For  to  whom  may  we  look 
for  an  example,  if  not  to  the  interpreters  of  the  law, 
whose  position  vests  them  with  dignity,  social  and 
official  ?  From  whom  may  we  demand  the  utterance 
of  lofty  principles  and  of  high  convictions,  if  not 
from  the  very  men  whose  business  it  is  to  punish 
the  imhappy  wretches  whose  actions  have  declared 
their  principles,  expressed  or  otherwise,  of  the  flimsi- 
est? 

Judge  Barton  was  also  frequently  extolled  as  the 
pattern  of  American  democracy,  as,  indeed,  he  was. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  catholic  than  his 
handshake,  nothing  more  finely  measured  than  the 
appreciation  which  it  conveyed  of  the  recipient's  re- 
lation to  himself:  to  the  veteran  of  the  Army  of  the 
Philippines,  it  was  hearty,  and  bespoke  the  comrade 
in  arms;  to  the  struggling  young  civil-service  em- 

[10] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

ployee,  it  was  encouraging,  and  it  hinted,  ever  so 
delicately,  that  the  inspiration  for  great  ambitions 
ought  to  lie  in  the  example  of  living  statesmen;  to 
the  clergy  and  to  the  members  of  the  Educational 
Department,  who  fairly  swarm  in  the  Phihppines,  it 
was  fraternal  and  spoke  confidentially  of  the  tie 
which  linked  them  in  a  great  work;  and  to  the  ef- 
fervescing spume  from  the  Pacific  coast,  which  is 
knocking  about  Manila,  loud  in  vituperation  of  the 
change  from  democratic  to  bureaucratic  society  — 
to  that  segment  of  Young  America  whose  disposi- 
tion to  criticise  existing  institutions  led  to  the  happy 
phrase  "undesirable  citizens  " —  the  Judge^s  dem- 
ocratic cordiality  always  embodied  a  hope  that  their 
mutual  relations  might  continue  forever  harmo- 
nious, and  it  even  intimated  that  no  act  on  his  part 
could  make  them  otherwise. 

The  cause  of  the  Judge's  highly  civilized  musings 
was  one  of  those  undesirable  citizens  of  the  feminine 
gender ;  and,  if  you  ask  how  anything  proper  in  the 
feminine  gender  may  be  classed  as  an  undesirable 
citizen,  there  can  only  be  cited  an  opinion  from  the 
Judge  himself  —  one  of  those  ex-cathedra  senti- 
ments which  he  held  as  infallible  —  that  any  one 
who  refuses  to  accept  pleasantly  a  situation  which  he 

[11] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

IS  powerless  to  remedy,  and  who  continues  a  quarrel 
which  is  futile  and  which  can  result  only  disastrously 
to  its  single  champion,  that  person  is,  primarily,  in- 
efficient, and,  secondarily,  insane;  either  of  which 
states  is  undesirable.  Furthermore,  there  is  noth- 
ing so  repellent  to  a  man  as  the  feminine  weakness 
which  enlists  his  sympathy,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
challenges  the  terms  on  which  it  is  given.  To  find 
the  shivering  wretch  on  whom  you  would  bestow 
an  alms  repudiating  your  charity  and  mutely  re- 
proaching you  for  the  condition  of  things  which 
makes  you  donor  and  him  recipient  —  in  such  a 
metaphor,  perhaps,  the  Judge  might  have  con- 
densed the  musings  which  a  month's  illness  and  the 
daily  opportunity  of  studying  Miss  Ponsonby  had 
bred. 

The  young  woman  who  had  received  so  much  of 
His  Honor's  valuable  consideration  did  not  look  a 
very  formidable  antagonist  in  a  quarrel  with  or- 
ganized society.  She  stood  at  an  open  window  of 
the  hospital,  gazing  down  on  a  convalescent-strewn 
lawn,  where  a  military  band  was  delighting  the  sick 
with  a  Christmas  Eve  concert.  Her  tall  figure  was 
very  slender  —  so  slender,  in  fact,  as  to  make  it 
quite  evident  that  the  blue  cotton  nurse's  dress  which 

[12] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

she  wore  was  the  survival  of  a  plumper  epoch.  She 
was  not  a  beautiful  woman,  nor  was  she  even  a 
pretty  one,  though  she  was  far  from  being  ugly. 
Her  eyes  were  gray  and  kind,  with  well  arched 
brows.  Her  nose  was  shghtly  aquiline,  with  sensi- 
tive nostrils.  A  rather  low  forehead,  a  broad 
mouth,  and  a  shapely  head  covered  with  brown  hair, 
were  attributes  which  she  shared  with  any  number 
of  women.  What  particularly  marked  her  was  a 
delicate  grace  of  manner,  an  emanation  of  fastidi- 
ousness in  every  glance  and  movement,  a  reserve 
which  at  times  became  almost  stiffness;  in  short,  a 
distinction  which,  in  happier  circumstances,  might 
have  made  her  envied,  but  which  in  the  mixture  of  a 
pioneer  community  served  only  to  isolate  her. 

For  at  least  two  weeks  of  convalescence.  Judge 
Barton  had  amused  himself  with  the  attempt  to  de- 
termine why  Miss  Ponsonby's  charm  and  distinction 
should  be  assets  of  so  little  practical  value  to  her. 
His  decision  was  that,  in  appearance  most  dis- 
tinguished, she  was  singularly  lacking  in  the  un- 
conscious self-confidence  which  usually  accompanies 
distinction;  that,  a  most  feminine  creature  in  many 
respects,  she  was  imfemininely  distrustful  of  her 
power  over  men.     There  was,  in  her  perfectly  dig- 

[13] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

nified  attitude  toward  the  other  sex,  and  in  the 
absence  of  all  coquetry,  a  sort  of  proud  abdication  of 
feminine  rights.  She  resigned  all  a  woman's  nat- 
ural claim  upon  man's  emotional  nature;  and  the 
keen  analyst  who  had  studied  her  so  closely  fancied 
that  he  could  detect  a  repressed  challenge  of  man's 
superiority.  He  classified  her  (with  a  kind  of 
shrugging  pity)  as  one  of  those  women  of  whom 
all  men  speak  respectfully  and  many  men  admir- 
ingly, but  who  grow  old  and  plain  and  bitter,  un- 
sought among  their  more  frivolous  sisters.  At  the 
same  time,  he  admitted  an  attraction  which  had  kept 
him  bidding  indirectly  for  her  notice. 

Miss  Ponsonby's  impassive  reserve  with  men  was 
so  wholly  a  confession,  and,  at  the  same  time,  so 
proud  a  disclaimer  of  the  usual  meek  attitude  of 
unpopular  women,  that  it  not  only  irritated  the  man 
who  could  analyze  her,  but  it  provoked  his  curiosity 
and  led  him  into  attempt  after  attempt  to  sting  her 
into  speech  and  unconscious  revelations.  And 
whenever  he  did  so  and  retired,  foiled,  with  the 
consciousness  of  having  given  an  unmanly  stab  to 
weakness,  his  man's  desire  to  think  well  of  himself 
made  him  put  the  blame  upon  her. 

On  the  afternoon  of  that  particular  day,  Miss 
[14] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

Ponsonby's  feminine  characteristics  were  in  posses- 
sion. She  leaned  rather  languidly  against  the  win- 
dow frame,  and  her  bodily  fatigue,  and  a  self-con- 
scious forlornness  which  she  strove  habitually  to 
conceal,  were  quite  evident.  Every  movement  be- 
trayed the  woman  pushed  beyond  her  strength; 
every  sensitive,  quivering  line  of  her  face  hinted  at 
emotions  rioting  under  a  repressed  exterior. 

If  her  very  apparent  dejection  aroused  no  com- 
punction in  the  Judge  (he  being  so  highly  civilized) 
it  evoked  an  ardent  sympathy  from  the  young  man 
in  the  next  bed;  for,  in  those  days,  not  even  the 
potency  of  a  Judge's  title  could  have  commanded  a 
private  room  in  the  hospital.  As  a  next  best  ex- 
pedient. Judge  Barton  had  been  placed  in  a  small 
room  opening  from  the  main  ward,  and  containing 
but  two  beds.  The  exigencies  of  an  overcrowded 
surgical  ward  made  it  necessary  that  the  second  bed 
should  be  occupied  by  a  young  pearl  fisher,  with  a 
crushed  chest,  who  had  been  taken  off  a  wrecked 
lorcha.  His  magnificent  physique,  and  the  face 
of  a  Greek  statue,  would  have  lured  from  a  woman 
a  more  compHmentary  description  than  the  term 
"young  ruiSan"  which  Judge  Barton  had  instantly 
but  inaudibly  fastened  upon  him.     "Yoimg  ruf- 

[15] 


The  Locusts*  Tears 

fian"  is  perhaps  an  exaggerated  phrase  to  describe 
the  beauty  and  insouciance  which,  in  a  male,  may 
be  qualified  by  a  hat  too  far  on  one  side.  The  Judge 
had  never  seen  Collingwood  in  his  hat,  but  he  di- 
vined just  the  angle  which  the  young  man's  taste 
approved. 

ColKngwood  was  gradually  recovering,  but  he 
was  still  unable  to  move  without  the  assistance  of 
a  nurse  or  of  one  of  the  Filipino  attendants.  He 
had  the  black  hair,  the  pink  and  white  skin,  and 
the  cameo-cut  profile  of  a  Celtic  ancestry,  modified 
by  his  father's  union  with  a  woman  of  Tennessee 
pioneer  stock.  His  eyes,  which  should  have  been 
the  Irishman's  blue,  were  a  steadfast  brown.  His 
frame  was  a  little  more  massive  than  his  father's 
had  been;  the  Irishman's  blarney  had  merged  into 
the  chaff  of  the  Westerner;  but  enough  of  Irish 
humor  remained  to  lend  flavor  to  the  practical, 
hard-headed  sense  which  he  had  inherited  from  the 
mountaineer  side  of  the  family.  His  speech  was 
cheery  and  careless,  yet  shrewd;  lacking  in  polish, 
yet  not  uncouth.  He  was  not  uneducated,  and 
took  an  innocent  satisfaction  in  having  credentials 
to  show  for  that  fact,  being  a  graduate  of  a  small 
high-school   in   one   of  the   Middle    States.     The 

[16] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Judge  had  found  him  a  not  uninteresting  compan- 
ion, for  he  was  outspoken,  a  born  lover  of  adven- 
ture, and  a  born  money-maker,  if  the  Judge  ever 
knew  one. 

However,  Collingwood  himself  interested  Judge 
Barton  far  less  than  did  the  growth  of  an  emotion 
in  the  young  man  which  the  dignitary  had  covertly 
watched  enlarge  from  an  expansive  gratitude  to 
absorbing  affection.  The  "young  ruffian"  had 
fallen  head  over  ears  in  love  with  a  woman  whose 
critical  faculties  and  fastidious  instincts  might  well 
have  shaken  the  courage  of  a  more  pretentious 
suitor;  and  he  enjoyed  the  ruffian's  usual  advantage 
of  being  sensitive  to  material  difficulties  only.  If 
he  felt  the  distinction  in  Miss  Ponsonby's  manner, 
it  was  not  as  something  which  separated  her  from 
him,  but  as  something  which  made  her  only  more 
desirable.  He  mistook  her  reserve  for  shyness ;  her 
proud  detachment,  for  meekness.  He  was  aflame 
to  seize  the  woman  who  not  only  appealed  to  his 
senses,  but  who  stirred  ambitions  of  which  he  was 
hardly  conscious,  and  to  bear  her  away  from  her 
overtasked  Hf  e.  He  wished  to  play  King  Cophetua 
to  the  beggar  maid ;  and  he  was  saved  from  appear- 
ing supremely  ridiculous  only  by  his  sincerity  and 
«  [17] 


The  Locusts*  Tears 

by  freedom  from  all  self -consciousness  in  his  de- 
sire. 

It  was  so  natural  that  a  young  ruflSan  should  fall 
in  love  with  probably  the  first  gentlewoman  with 
whom  he  had  come  into  frequent  association,  that 
the  Judge  wasted  no  particular  attention  on  Col- 
lingwood's  side  of  the  case.     What  really  interested 
that   gentleman   was    Miss    Ponsonby's    attitude. 
For,  as  he  put  it  to  himself,  there  was  a  woman  with 
an   undeniable   personality,   engaged   in   a    dumb 
squabble  with  society  because  she  could  not  obtain 
a  recognition  of  that  personality;  and  the  only  ad- 
mirer and  partisan  she  could  muster  was  a  young 
ruffian  so  far  removed  from  atmospheric  influences 
that  he  had  not  recognized  that  she  was  a  person- 
ality; a  man  who  would  not  have  known  what  was 
meant  by  the  word.     She  might  have  been  the 
young  woman  who  despatches  telegrams  from  the 
lobby  of  a  first-class  hotel,  so  far  as  CoUingwood's 
assumption  that  she  belonged  to  his  world  was  con- 
cerned.    Her  nurse's  apron  and  cap  were  to  him 
the  indisputable  evidences  of  his  right  to  claim  her 
for  his  friend  or  for  his  sweetheart,  provided,  of 
course,  that  the  attraction  was  mutual ;  and  that  her 
taste  might  be  influenced  by  any  other  standard 

[18] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

than  his  own,  he  had  no  suspicion.  Judge  Barton 
had  even  detected  at  times  the  tacit  overture  for  a 
class  combination,  the  assiunption  that  they  of  the 
toilers  needed  no  chance  civility  from  one  tempo- 
rarily thrown  into  their  society.  That  the  situation 
daily  developing  under  his  observant  eyes  must  be 
humihating  to  Miss  Ponsonby,  Judge  Barton  had 
not  the  least  doubt.  But  he  was  sufficiently  human 
to  hope  that  the  hour  of  Collingwood's  discomfiture 
(for  of  that  also  he  had  no  doubt)  might  be  de- 
layed until  he,  the  Judge,  was  ready  to  leave  the 
hospital,  and  to  find  some  other  amusement  than 
that  of  watching  a  proud  woman's  struggle  with  her 
femininity. 

Collingwood,  quite  unconscious  of  the  Judge's 
observant  eye,  lay  watching  Miss  Ponsonby  with  an 
alertness  which  contrasted  strangely  with  his 
maimed  body.  There  was,  in  his  shghtly  dilated 
nostril  and  in  the  glow  of  his  eye,  the  suggestion  of 
a  horse  which  pricks  forward  its  ears  and  accelerates 
its  pace  as  it  nears  home;  and  perhaps  some  latent 
instinct  of  domesticity  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the 
man's  rather  inexplicable  fancy  for  Miss  Ponsonby. 

It  was  inexpUcable,  not  only  through  the  social 
gulf  which  actually  divided  them,  but  through  the 

[19] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

fact  that  she  had  never  been  a  man's  woman,  and 
that  all  Collingwood's  previous  attachments  had 
been  for  the  type  of  woman  who  is  adored  by  the 
opposite  sex.  Miss  Ponsonby  was  not  diffident  un- 
der his  advances,  nor  was  she  overwhelmed  by  a 
man's  favor,  little  as  she  had  enjoyed  of  it.  At- 
tention of  a  sort  she  had  had,  because  the  position 
of  the  relatives  who  had  brought  her  up  was  such 
that  any  member  of  their  household  had  to  be  taken 
into  consideration;  but  from  the  time  she  had  left 
the  shelter  of  their  roof,  she  had  received  from  men 
an  indifference  as  profound  as  it  was  respectful. 
ColHngwood's  very  open  admiration  was  the  first 
tracery  upon  a  page  which  was  humiliatingly  blank. 
It  had  begun  —  his  admiration  —  on  his  first 
night  in  the  hospital,  when  he  lay  a  bandaged 
mummy,  racked  with  pain,  a  mounting  fever  adding 
its  torments  to  the  closeness  of  a  muggy,  tropical 
night.  There  were  memories  of  its  sufferings 
mingled  with  gentle  ministrations,  of  touches  sooth- 
ing to  his  worn  body,  of  a  feeling  of  helplessness 
and  dependence  upon  this  gentleness,  which  carried 
him  back  to  his  half -forgotten  childhood,  and 
washed,  as  clean  as  his  school-boy's  slate,  a  phi- 
losophy of  life  acquired  in  numerous  love  affairs 

[20] 


The  Liocusts'  Years 

with  the  young  ladies  of  hotel  lobbies,  and  of  res- 
taurant cheek  stands. 

The  impression  remained  overnight  and  increased 
by  reason  of  the  succession  of  another  nurse,  who 
prided  herself  upon  her  jollity,  and  beHeved  that 
her  patients  needed  cheering  up.  CoUingwood  was 
in  such  a  condition  that  jollity  was  an  affront  to 
him.  He  endured  the  cheerful  lady  as  best  he  could, 
and  counted  the  long  hours  till  four  o'clock  brought 
back  his  madonna. 

The  word  had  no  part  in  CoUingwood's  vocabu- 
lary; but  it  is  applicable  because  it  expresses  the 
quahty  of  worship  which  he  had  injected  into  an 
otherwise  very  mundane  emotion.  CoUingwood, 
who  was  as  innocent  as  a  babe  of  social  traditions, 
who  was  an  American  democrat  through  and 
through,  and  believed  that  all  men  are  equal,  save 
as  the  possession  of  "the  price"  enables  one  man  to 
command  more  of  this  world's  goods  than  another, 
was  unable  to  account  for  the  elements  in  Miss  Pon- 
sonby's  nature  which  whetted  his  desires,  by  any  of 
the  threads  which  contributed  to  the  fabric  of  his 
philosophy;  and  he  explained  them  by  imputing  to 
the  lady  the  rare  and  peculiar  quality  of  goodness. 

Goodness !     There  you  have  the  weak  point  in  the 
[21] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

arch  of  man's  philosophical  structure,  the  thing 
which  at  once  embodies  his  highest  ideal  and  his 
most  human  distaste,  the  thing  over  which  he  has 
rhapsodized  in  poetry,  which  he  has  exalted  into  a 
theology,  and  which  he  has  ruthlessly  crucified  when- 
ever he  has  met  it  in  the  flesh.  Collingwood  sup- 
posed that  Miss  Ponsonby's  delicate  rejection  of  his 
advances  (a  rejection  quahfied  by  some  feehng 
which  a  lover's  instinct  had  to  interpret  to  his  ad- 
vantage) originated  in  goodness,  in  a  final  struggle 
of  the  ethereahzed  feminine  nature  before  it  sub- 
mitted to  its  incarnation  and  became  bound  in  the 
flesh.  He  thought  the  delicate  self-restraint  with 
which  she  met  the  caprices  and  fretfulness  of  her 
wards  was  founded  on  heavenly  patience.  He 
imagined  that  her  occasional  snubs  of  Judge  Bar- 
ton were  the  outcroppings  of  an  inward  shrinking 
from  a  passion  to  which  she  could  not  respond ;  for, 
loverlike,  he  assumed  that  all  men  must  feel  as  he 
did  about  his  divinity  and  he  could  not  perceive  the 
undercurrent  of  patronage  in  the  Judge's  not  infre- 
quent gallantries,  which  was  like  an  acid  on  Miss 
Ponsonby's  quivering  nerves. 

It   was    a    delicious    situation.     Judge    Barton 
rubbed  his  hands  in  enjoyment  of  it,  and  you  must 

[^2] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

admit  that  he  had  some  justification  in  the  lady's 
persistent  refusal  to  make  the  best  of  his  somewhat 
generous  efforts  to  establish  friendly  relations. 
Oh,  yes,  it  was  a  dehcious  situation;  and  the  only 
one  element  in  it  which  the  Judge  never  suspected 
was  that  secret  response  to  the  young  man's  tender- 
ness which  the  lover  himself  had  divined,  which 
whetted  him  in  spite  of  studied  rebuffs,  and  which, 
his  alleged  democracy  notwithstanding,  all  Judge 
Barton's  class  instincts  would  have  unhesitatingly 
pronounced  unseemly  —  as,  indeed,  the  young 
woman  herself  regarded  it. 


[23] 


CHAPTER  II 

CHARLOTTE  PONSONBY  continued  to 
lean  against  the  window  in  an  abstraction 
which  registered  impressions  very  much  as 
a  flagellant's  ecstasy  may  note  the  pathway  of  his 
torment.  The  consciousness  of  her  own  perturba- 
tion made  it  exceedingly  difficult  to  turn  around. 
She  was  so  unhappy  that  it  seemed  the  fact  must 
be  evident  to  even  a  casual  observer.  She  was 
afraid  of  a  kindly  word,  or  of  a  mere  friendly 
glance,  lest  it  should  break  through  the  self  control 
she  had  been  exerting. 

When  at  length  the  National  Anthem  had  been 
played,  and  lucent  amber  was  fading  into  early  dusk, 
the  nurse  had  no  further  excuse  for  turning  her 
back  on  the  two  patients  in  her  ward.  She  did 
not  glance  at  them  as  she  moved  away,  but  her 
quick  return  with  a  glass  of  milk  showed  that  one 
of  them,  at  least,  was  in  her  thoughts.  She  of- 
fered the  refreshment  to  Collingwood  with  an  ex- 


The  Locusts^  Years 

planation,  in  a  dry,  professional  tone,  for  its  being 
three  minutes  late. 

He  sipped  it,  looking  over  the  rim  with  his  stead- 
fast brown  eyes. 

"I'm  tired,"  he  said  fretfuUy. 

"I  suppose  you  must  be.  I  will  move  you  when 
you  have  finished  that." 

"I  wonder,"  Judge  Barton  mused,  "if  nurses  do 
not  sometimes  feel  like  saying  'So  am  I'  when  we 
fellows  complain  of  being  tired,  or  nervous,  or  out 
of  patience." 

Miss  Ponsonby  threw  him  a  smile  of  recogni- 
tion for  the  courtesy  of  the  thought.  "Very  often 
they  do,"  she  replied,  "but  that  thought  would  not 
come  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Collingwood,  because  he 
is  tired,  and  we  know  that  he  suffers.  Nurses  sel- 
dom think  of  themselves  so  long  as  they  can  reason- 
ably think  of  their  patients."  Her  outstretched 
hand  conveyed  an  intimation  to  the  patient  under 
discussion  that  he  was  taking  an  unusual  time  to 
consume  a  glass  of  milk. 

Collingwood  was  not  a  man  to  be  hurried  when 
he  had  an  object  in  taking  time.  He  affected  not 
to  see  her  hand,  when,  in  reality,  he  wanted  to 

[25] 


The  Locusts*  Tears 

caress  it ;  and  he  continued  to  sip  his  milk  very  slowly 
indeed. 

"Christmas  Eve,"  he  said  lugubriously,  "a  bum 
Christmas  if  ever  there  was  one." 

"Yes,"  said  Judge  Barton.  "Collingwood  has 
an  epoch  now  in  life  —  a  landmark.  Hereafter  he 
will  class  all  events  as  before  or  after  the  Christ- 
mas he  spent  in  hospital." 

"Oh,  you^  CoUingwood  threw  at  him,  "you  can 
afford  to  smile.  You  have  plenty  of  friends.  It 's 
not  the  same  with  you  as  with  a  poor  devil  like 
me. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  expostulated  the  Judge,  "  *at 
night  all  cats  are  gray.'  Friends  do  not  make  a 
Christmas.  When  one  is  away  from  one's  home 
and  family  at  this  season,  there  are  no  gradations. 
Ask  Miss  Ponsonby." 

"Is  it  true,  Miss  Ponsonby,  what  he  says?"  in- 
quired CoUingwood  with  the  air  of  one  appeal- 
ing to  an  infallible  tribunal. 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  CoUingwood.  Judge  Bar- 
ton must  look  for  his  support  to  someone  who  has 
passed  through  both  experiences.  I  have  passed 
Christmas  away  from  my  family,  but  I  have  not 
passed  one  surroimded  by  a  host  of  friends." 

[26] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

"Ah,  but  you  understand  so  much,"  the  Judge 
murmured.  Irritated  by  her  unresponsiveness,  he 
grew  ahnost  impertinent.  "The  keenness  of  your 
intelhgence  is  only  excelled  by  your  kindness  of 
heart." 

Miss  Ponsonby's  cheek  for  an  instant  flew  danger 
signals,  but  she  said  nothing.  She  looked  at  the 
Judge  a  moment  and  subdued  him.     Then  — 

"I  do  not  believe  you  give  me  credit  for  any 
great  kindness  of  heart,"  she  said  simply. 

"Then  must  I  give  you  credit  for  the  patience  of 
Job." 

"That  you  may  do."  She  took  the  glass  from 
Collingwood,  who,  after  an  ineffectual  effort  to 
convince  himself  that  it  was  not  empty,  yielded  it 
reluctantly. 

The  Judge,  with  a  delicacy  which  he  practised 
with  almost  ceremonial  observance,  turned  on  his 
pillow  and  gave  them  the  benefit  of  a  wealth  of 
grizzled  black  hair,  covering  a  massive  head.  He 
would  not  intrude  upon  the  act  of  changing  the 
young  man's  wearied  posture.  His  excess  of  del- 
icacy robbed  the  act  of  its  naturalness,  made  it  seem 
personal  and  intimate. 

CoUingwood  felt  the  nurse's  hesitation.  His 
[27] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

heart  thumped  in  glad  triumph.  Let  her  rule  her 
manner  as  she  would,  she  could  not  make  that 
service  impersonal.  He  saw  her  teeth  catch  her  un- 
derlip  as  she  bent  over  him.  Her  eyes  would  not 
meet  his,  which  glued  themselves  appealingly  upon 
her  face.  She  shpped  her  arm  imder  him,  however, 
while  his  own  went  about  her  neck. 

In  spite  of  her  care,  and  the  perfect  training  of 
her  action,  the  slight  change  which  she  made  in  his 
position  wrenched  a  groan  from  him.  Yet  as  she 
laid  him  back  and  still  stooped,  drawing  her  arms 
from  under  him,  his  own  clinging  arms  tightened, 
and  he  pressed  his  lips  ardently  against  the  cheek 
so  near  his  own. 

For  a  breath,  the  very  shortest  breath  a  man  ever 
drew,  he  could  have  sworn  he  felt  a  response  to  the 
caress,  a  womanly  yielding  to  all  that  aifection  and 
dependence  may  imply.  Then  her  eyes,  startled, 
met  his,  and  on  the  heels  of  a  fawn-like  timidity, 
a  wave  of  fierceness  sent  the  red  blood  dyeing  her 
cheek,  set  the  high  arched  nostril  aquiver.  The  in- 
tuition flashed  into  his  brain  that  it  was  the  first 
man's  caress  which  had  ever  touched  her  soft  cheek, 
and  that  she  was  no  less  frightened  than  indignant. 
The  joy  of  the  thought  drove  his  blood  leaping  and 

[28] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

stifled  his  cry  of  protest,  as  she  drew  hurriedly  back 
and  left  him.  She  moved  rapidly  toward  the  corri- 
dor, whence  the  babble  of  a  woman's  voice,  which 
grew  louder  as  the  owner  advanced,  came  floating 
in. 

The  lady,  weighted  with  flowers,  who  had  come  to 
bring  the  season's  remembrances  to  the  suff*ering 
dignitary,  had  paid  him  several  previous  visits,  was 
known  to  Charlotte,  and  was  an  object  of  no  little 
curiosity  to  Collingwood.  She  was  a  member  of 
a  very  fashionable  set,  and  bore  its  stamp  in  dress 
and  mannerisms.  She  was  tall  and  large-boned, 
with  an  ugly,  intense  face  framed  in  a  mass  of  the 
then  fashionable  chestnut-red  hair.  Save  for  its 
haughty  demand  for  consideration,  her  countenance 
was  not  unlike  those  of  her  fallen  sisters  in  the 
suburbs  of  Manila.  There  were  the  same  sugges- 
tions of  hfe  drained  to  the  dregs,  the  challenge,  the 
hard  look  about  the  eyes.  She  had  the  manner  of 
an  actress,  a  kind  of  studied,  feline  grace  which  fell 
into  postures  and  left  the  observer  in  doubt  whether 
her  next  move  would  be  a  purr  or  the  stroke  of 
a  treacherous  paw. 

The  lady  took  Miss  Ponsonby's  hand  and  held 
it  during  the  course  of  several  honeyed  utterances. 

[29] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

Yet  the  effect  of  her  courtesy  was  an  impression 
not  of  kindness,  but  of  insolence.  She  managed  to 
convey  the  idea  that  civihty  to  one's  inferiors  is 
an  attribute  of  a  great  lady,  and  that  she  was  living 
up  to  the  demands  of  her  position.  When  she 
passed  to  the  bedside  of  the  afflicted  one,  however,  a 
warmth,  a  glow  of  the  magnetism  which  she  could 
exert  diffused  itself  like  an  essence  in  the  bare, 
ugly  room.  She  addressed  the  Judge  in  the  abusive 
strain  of  intimacy. 

"You  fraudulent  creature!"  she  reproached  him, 
"lying  here,  pretending  to  be  ill  when  I  want  you 
at  my  dinner." 

"Dear  lady,  don't."  The  Judge  gestured  away 
the  phantom  of  that  dinner.  Being  shut  out  of 
paradise,  he  could  not  talk  of  its  glories. 

Mrs.  Badgerly  laughed  in  his  face.  Then  she 
looked  around  the  room  for  the  nurse.  She  wished 
her  flowers  arranged  just  so  in  the  bowl  of  old 
Chinese  bronze  which  her  husband  and  she  hoped 
would  keep  them  green  in  a  dear  friend's  memory. 
Would  Miss  Ponsonby  put  them  in  one  by  one  as 
she  directed?  She  herself  was  afraid  of  ruining 
her  frock,  which  had  already  led  to  recrimination  be- 
tween herself  and  her  husband. 

[30] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

**You  do  it  beautifully,  you  know,"  she  purred, 
as  the  nurse's  deft  fingers  planted  sprays  of  green 
and  white.  "You  must  not  mind  my  comments. 
I  am  supposed  to  be  a  critic  —  really  competent. 
I  took  lessons  in  Japan.  Nothing  is  so  satisfying 
as  to  lie  face  down  on  the  floor,  sticking  cherry 
blossoms  into  a  Satsuma  vase." 

"Speaking  of  Japan,"  remarked  Judge  Barton, 
"have  those  silks  which  you  promised  to  get  for  me 
come  yet?" 

"You  are  not  to  mention  those  silks.  They  are 
on  a  navy  boat." 

"Smuggling  again,"  said  the  Judge.  "I  believe 
you  women  do  it  for  the  sake  of  intrigue.  You 
will  never  rest  till  you  have  gotten  some  poor  wretch 
cashiered  and  have  driven  me  off  the  bench.  I 
did  not  mind  the  duty,  and  I  do  mind  the  delay. 
Why  did  n't  you  have  them  sent  down  by  mail?" 

"I  mind  the  duty.  I  shall  oppose  it  on  principle 
whenever  I  can.  I  delight  in  evading  customs 
duties.     It  is  the  greatest  pleasure  I  have  in  Kfe." 

"Badgerly  votes  a  Republican  ticket,  doesn't 
he?" 

"What  ticket  he  votes  is  immaterial.  So  is  what 
you  say.     Would  you  find  me  guilty  and  sentence 

[31] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

me  to  imprisonment  if  I  came  up  for  trial  in  your 
august  court?" 

"I  Ve  no  doubt  I  should  cast  about  for  extenua- 
ting circumstances,  though  you  would  not  deserve 
my  doing  so.  So  I  am  to  be  the  purveyor  of  smug- 
gled goods,  eh?" 

*'Oh,  if  you  are  too  holy  — "  she  rippled. 

"Dear  me,  I  hope  I  don't  set  up  for  being  holy. 
I  should  almost  prefer  the  title  of  smuggler.  Still, 
in  my  position,  it  might  look  awkward.  However, 
I  Ve  always  been  a  pliant  fool  in  a  woman's  hands, 
and  I  have  n't  the  backbone  to  rise  up  and  protest. 
If  you  are  determined  to  smuggle,  I  suppose  you 
must,  but  don't  tell  me  about  it." 

"How  you  politicians  do  juggle  with  your  con- 
sciences," she  retorted.  "You  would  have  liked  me 
so  much  better  if  I  had  n't  told  you.  You  would 
have  known,  but  you  could  have  pretended  not  to." 
She  glanced  up  in  time  to  catch  a  flicker  of  distaste 
in  Miss  Ponsonby's  eyes,  as  that  lady  hastily  with- 
drew them  after  a  covert  scrutiny  of  the  Judge. 
"But  how  I  run  on!"  she  declared  flippantly.  "I 
am  afraid  we  are  shocking  your  good  nurse." 

If  Miss  Ponsonby  took  note  of  the  condescension 
in  Mrs.  Badgerly's  choice  of  adjectives,  she  did  not 

[32] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

betray  the  fact.  She  quite  repudiated  any  inclina- 
tion to  be  shocked.  "You  could  not  do  it,"  she  de- 
clared ambiguously,  planting  the  last  spray. 

Mrs.  Badgerly  took  Miss  Ponsonby's  measure 
deliberately.  She  had  long  before  admitted  the 
personality.  She  now  divined  the  quarrel.  It  gave 
her  a  rapturous  moment  of  triumph  to  realize  that 
there  was  a  woman  pulled  down  by  the  weight  of 
material  circumstances  which  buoyed  her  up.  The 
full  flavor  of  her  insolence  rioted  in  her  blood. 
What  was  character,  what  was  personality,  to 
power? 

She  carried  a  swagger  stick  of  Philippine  cama- 
gon  wood,  tipped  with  a  rare  piece  of  Chinese  ivory 
carving.  She  swung  one  knee  over  the  other,  re- 
vealing a  mass  of  dainty  petticoats,  and  silken  hose, 
and  a  pair  of  high-heeled  slippers.  She  lolled  back, 
her  keen  face  supported  by  one  slender  gloved  hand, 
while  she  swished  her  voluminous  draperies  with  the 
swagger  stick.  Even  Judge  Barton,  who  knew  her 
so  well,  was  stunned  by  her  audacity.  He  felt  as 
if  each  blow  were  a  lash  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
woman  facing  her,  who  had  turned  to  leave  them. 
He  felt  that  Mrs.  Badgerly  wanted  them  so  inter- 
preted. 

3  [33] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

"So  glad  you  are  not  narrow,"  said  Mrs.  Badgerly 
suavely,  **I  hate  cats,  old  feminine  cats.  I  lunched 
with  six  of  them  yesterday.  I  tried  to  propitiate 
them.  *I  Ve  been  just  as  bad  as  bad  can  be,'  I  said, 
*but  I  am  not  going  to  be  so  any  more.  I'm  going 
to  be  good  as  gold  from  now  on.  I  've  even  told  my 
husband  so.' " 

She  paused  to  let  the  full  audacity  of  her  remarks 
sink  into  her  auditors'  minds.  Judge  Barton  held 
his  breath.  It  was  a  masterly  inspiration  to  flaunt 
her  impudence  in  the  other's  face.  "What  is  your 
purity  worth?  your  delicacy?  your  refinement?  your 
fastidiousness?"  she  seemed  to  exult.  "Will  they 
win  you  notice  or  consideration?  You  are  not  the 
companion,  the  friend  of  this  man ;  I  am  that.  You 
are  his  menial.  What  does  his  secret  opinion  of 
either  of  us  matter?    His  deference  is  for  me." 

"Yes,"  went  on  Mrs.  Badgerly,  still  blocking 
Miss  Ponsonby's  way  with  her  theatrically  shod 
feet.  "I  made  my  little  confession  —  wasn't  it 
dear  of  me?  —  in  public,  and  they  looked  shocked. 
Nothing  is  more  vulgar  than  to  be  shocked.  They 
sat  and  stared  at  one  another  in  helpless  bewilder- 
ment.    They  had  not  a  word  to  say." 

If  Mrs.  Badgerly  felt  that  the  helpless  indigna- 
[34] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

tion  of  six  ladies  whose  commercial  and  official 
relations  with  her  husband  through  the  medium  of 
their  husbands  had  to  be  supported  by  civility  to 
his  wife;  if  she  felt  that  their  action  formed  any 
precedent  for  the  young  woman  in  a  nurse's  cap 
and  apron,  she  made  her  first  error  then  and  there. 
The  very  faintest  suggestion  of  contempt  swept 
across  Miss  Ponsonby's  aristocratic  features.  She 
made  a  httle  forward  movement,  just  sufficient  to 
force  Mrs.  Badgerly  to  draw  back  her  French 
slipper. 

"Probably  they  did  not  believe  you,"  she  said 
gently;  "and,  as  they  could  not  possibly  say  so,  there 
was  nothing  else  to  be  said." 

The  snigger  with  which  Collingwood  received  this 
(he  had  been  listening,  but  it  was  Mrs.  Badgerly's 
fault,  she  pitched  her  voice  too  high)  was  drowned 
in  an  exclamation  from  the  Judge. 

"Ah-ha,  Mrs.  Badgerly,  there  you  have  your 
riposte.  You  must  not  try  fencing  with  Miss  Pon- 
sonby.  Did  I  not  tell  you  long  ago  that  she  was 
clever,  far  too  clever  for  you  or  me?  But  she  is 
kind,  too.  She  is  too  generous  to  take  you  at  your 
word,  though  she  does  not  mind  countering  with 
you  for  the  pure  skill  of  it." 

[35] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

Charlotte's  response  was  a  somewhat  drawn  smile 
as  she  moved  away.  Mrs.  Badgerly,  though  taken 
aback,  was  not  routed.  She  still  felt  that  the  sinews 
of  war  were  in  her  hands,  and,  until  the  close  of  her 
visit,  she  made  a  series  of  demands  upon  the  nurse 
which  could  not  courteously  be  refused,  but  which 
kept  that  unfortunate  always  waiting  upon  her. 
She  reserved  a  few  arrows  till  her  departure. 

"Dear  nurse,"  she  said,  laying  a  hand  on  Miss 
Ponsonby's  arm,  "I  have  been  a  dreadful  nuisance, 
but  I  must  be  forgiven.  People  are  so  good 
to  me.  They  always  do  forgive  me.  You 
will  —  I  know  you  will.  You  look  so  tired, 
dear  nurse.  Won't  you  let  me  send  the  carriage  for 
you  some  evening  when  I  am  not  going  out?  I  am 
sure  you  ought  to  be  rewarded  in  Heaven  for  the 
sacrifices  you  make  on  earth.  Are  you  always  oc- 
cupied at  this  hour?  —  the  only  time  when  Manila 
is  agreeable?" 

Martin  Collingwood,  who  was  even  more  obtuse 
than  the  generahty  of  men  in  matters  where 
women's  finesse  is  concerned,  took  these  feminine 
taunts  at  their  face  value.  They  moderated  the 
resentment  which,  at  first,  the  obvious  prosperity 
and  self-confidence  of  the  visitor  had  aroused.     He 

[36] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

had  anathematized  her  with  the  favorite  adjective 
of  democracy:  he  had  mentally  labelled  her  "stuck 
up."  But  the  tenor  of  the  conversation  went  far 
to  remove  that  impression.  Its  deUcate  thrusts,  its 
cruel  taunts,  he  missed;  but  the  unvarnished  ef- 
frontery of  it  reminded  him,  save  for  a  flavor  of 
smartness  which  he  relished  but  could  not  define,  of 
the  frankness  of  some  of  the  young  ladies  who  had 
contributed  to  his  discarded  philosophy. 

Nevertheless,  he  gloried  somewhat  inconsistently 
in  Miss  Ponsonby's  ill  concealed  reprobation.  Her 
spunkiness  (his  own  word,  dear  reader)  delighted 
him  as  a  further  evidence  of  that  hohness  which 
was  essential  to  his  madonna.  The  remembrance 
of  his  stolen  kiss  flowed  back  to  him,  and  he  lay 
alternately  quaking  and  enraptured  at  the  thought 
of  his  own  boldness. 

Miss  Ponsonby  put  aside  Mrs.  Badgerly's 
thanks  and  declined  her  carriage.  She  went  about 
her  evening  duties  with  a  kind  of  startled  grace  like 
some  nerve-tense  creature,  ready  to  leap  at  a  sound. 
Not  a  single  glance  fell  Colhngwood's  way. 

But  at  nine  o'clock,  when  lights  were  to  go  out, 
the  necessity  of  administering  medicine  to  Judge 
Barton  made  her  bear  down  on  their  little  ward  with 

[37] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

a  tray.  She  was  very  self-possessed,  so  much  so 
that  the  keen  man  of  the  world  guessed  that  her 
late  encounter  had  been  more  trying  than  she  was 
willing  for  him  to  know. 

Still,  the  motive  which  made  him  utter  a  word 
or  two  of  apology  for  his  guest  was  not  wholly  kind. 
Miss  Ponsonby  had  snubbed  his  friend,  and  to  do 
that  was  to  impugn  the  greatness  of  the  man  him- 
self. 

"I  am  afraid  that  my  caller  gave  you  a  great 
deal  of  trouble,"  he  said. 

Charlotte  smiled.  "It  mattered  little.  I  am 
here  for  that." 

"A  great  deal  of  trouble,"  he  repeated,  detaining 
her  by  holding  his  medicine  untasted.  "But,  as  she 
said,  she  must  be  forgiven.  Ah !  there  is  nothing  so 
perfect  as  the  assurance  of  spoiled  women!" 

That  hurt.  It  drew  a  contrast.  She,  Charlotte 
Ponsonby,  was  not  spoiled,  and  she  had  no  assur- 
ance, and  he  could  not  forgive  her  for  it.  Pain 
jarred  an  injudicious  reply  from  her. 

"Why  are  they  spoiled?" 

"My  dear  lady!  Why  is  the  earth  scattered 
with  the  records  of  man's  folly?  Because  he  feels, 
and  they  prey  upon  his  miserable  feelings.     I  am 

[38] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

not  sure  that  you  are  mundane  enough  to  under- 
stand." 

"I  am  not  certain  that  I  do  imderstand.  But  I 
am  certain  that  my  stupidity  does  not  originate  in 
any  ultramundane  flights." 

"Ah,  you're  clever,"  said  the  Judge,  "danger- 
ously clever." 

"No  woman  is  dangerously  clever  till  she  uses 
her  wits  for  evil  purposes,"  she  said,  flushing.  "I 
resent  your  choice  of  adjectives." 

"A  thousand  pardons,"  he  cried.  "I  was  think- 
ing of  the  eff'ect  of  your  cleverness  upon  yourself, 
not  upon  others,  and  I  cannot  retract.  It  is  dan- 
gerous for  any  woman's  happiness  to  analyze  her- 
self and  all  the  world  as  you  do." 

She  gave  a  little  shrug,  and  held  out  her  hand 
for  the  glass. 

"Bear  with  me,"  he  pleaded.  "I  am  not  sleepy, 
and  you  wish  to  turn  out  the  lights  and  leave  me 
in  the  darkness  to  ponder  my  sins." 

"It  is  my  solenm  duty  to  turn  them  out  at  once 
if  you  are  going  to  do  that." 

"I  protest.  Hold  on  just  a  minute,  and  I  '11 
swallow  the  nauseous  stuff*.  Seriously,  Miss  Pon- 
sonby,  don't  you  think  —  all  advantages  and  dis- 

[39] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

advantages  taken  into  consideration  —  that  it  is  a 
good  thing  for  a  woman  to  be  spoiled?" 

"I  am  not  certain.  What  do  you  mean  by 
spoiled?" 

"Oh,  womanly  will  do  for  a  definition." 

"Is  Mrs.  Badgerly  womanly?" 

*'Not  in  the  completest  sense,  but  womanly 
enough  to  be  spoiled  —  to  base  all  her  demands 
upon  her  charms,  and  not  upon  her  rights." 

"I  will  think  that  over.  It  presents  a  field  for 
interesting  thought.     But  do  drink  your  medicine." 

"Not  until  you  have  told  me  what  you  really 
think." 

"I  think  you  leave  no  place  for  the  women  with 
no  charms.     Has  she  no  rights  either?" 

"The  proper  sort  of  woman  does  not  want  any 
rights.  She  values  her  charms  infinitely  higher 
than  all  the  rights  that  can  be  given  her." 

"That  must  be  exceedingly  pleasant  for  the 
women  who  are  born  charming.  But  I  insist  that 
a  sensible  woman  should  value  the  attainable  more 
than  the  unattainable.  Charm  is  unattainable  by 
any  conscious  process.  The  woman  bom  without 
it  had  better  make  few  claims  if,  to  use  a  commercial 

[40] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

metaphor,  she  wants  her  drafts  honored.  There  is 
nothing  for  her  to  do  but  philosophically  to  make 
the  best  of  the  situation,  and  to  accept  those  things 
which  are  the  commonly  admitted  rights  of  her 
sex." 

"Ah!  you  reason  so  clearly  and  practically.  But 
don't  be  a  philosopher.  Don't  let  philosophy  creep 
upon  you.  Resist  it.  You  know  the  quotation,  I 
am  sure,  'That  unloveUest  of  things  in  women,  a 
philosopher.' " 

He  set  the  glass  to  his  lips,  so  that  he  did  not 
see  how  she  paled  under  the  thrust,  nor  how  one 
hand  went  to  her  throat  quickly  as  if  a  sudden  pain 
had  gripped  her.  When  he  had  finished  drinking 
and  had  set  the  empty  glass  upon  her  tray,  she 
switched  off  the  light  without  her  usual  * 'good- 
night," and  left  him. 

"Nurse  —  Miss  Ponsonby,"  said  a  small  voice  in 
the  gloom,  a  most  abject  voice  to  issue  from  six  feet 
of  recumbent  manhood,  "won't  you  come  here  a 
minute?" 

Miss  Ponsonby  paused,  but  did  not  look  back. 
"Are  you  awake?"  she  inquired  evenly.  "I  thought 
you  were  asleep  hours  ago.     You  must  be  dread- 

[41] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

fully  tired.  The  attendant  is  here  now,  the  one 
who  handles  you  so  nicely.  I  will  send  him  to  you 
immediately." 

A  man  cannot  lie  in  the  dark  and  cry  for  a  nurse 
who  will  not  come.  CoUingwood  submitted,  though 
fear  had  taken  possession  of  him.  His  late  au- 
dacity seemed  madness. 

The  night  wore  on.  Clouds  obscured  the  sky, 
and  a  hot,  choking  darkness  blocked  the  windows, 
with  solid  blackness.  The  sounds  of  traffic  grew 
intermittent.  Occasionally  a  carriage  went  past, 
full  of  drunken  soldiers  or  marines,  shouting  and 
singing.  Once  the  ambulance  went  out  and  came 
back  with  an  emergency  case. 

CoUingwood's  bed  commanded  the  door  which 
opened  into  the  main  ward,  so  that  he  had  a  per- 
fect view  of  Miss  Ponsonby,  sitting  at  her  desk 
and  working  at  her  report.  A  thick  green  shade 
cut  the  light  from  the  room,  but  centred  it  like 
a  halo  around  her  shapely  head. 

By  and  by,  though  her  features  were  composed, 
the  watcher  saw  a  ghsten  of  light  which  flashed 
at  recurrent  intervals  as  a  tear  dropped  downward. 
The  sight  filled  him  with  repentance  and  perplexity. 
He  associated  the  tears,  though  he  could  not  tell 

[42] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

why,  with  his  stolen  kiss.  He  had  kissed  more 
young  women  in  his  life  than  he  had  energy  at 
that  moment  to  remember;  and  no  one  before  had 
felt  his  caresses  a  reasonable  pretext  for  weeping. 
Here  again  was  that  mysterious  goodness  mixing 
up  a  situation  which  ought  to  have  been  simple  as 
day,  and  yet  he  was  glad  that  it  was  there  to  mix. 

A  faint  sound  from  Judge  Barton's  couch  told 
him  that  the  Judge,  too,  was  wakeful  and  had  seen 
the  sparkling  drops;  but  he  could  not  hear  what 
that  gentleman  was  saying  to  himself. 

''Not  a  philosopher,"  he  murmured,  ''not  sl  phi- 
losopher, but  uncompromising.  Why  is  n't  she  at- 
tractive! She  ought  to  be  attractive."  Then, 
quite  gently,  "Poor  creature!  Why  doesn't  she 
surrender?  Why  doesn't  she  accept  the  situation 
and  compromise  with  life?" 

There  was  no  one  to  answer.  Presently  Miss 
Ponsonby,  as  if  realising  that  there  might  be  wake- 
ful eyes  among  the  patients,  got  up  and  went  out 
into  the  corridor.  A  few  minutes  afterwards,  the 
bells,  the  whistles,  and  the  revolvers  of  enthusiastic 
exiles  flung  out  a  Christmas  greeting,  and  her  re- 
lief came. 

Each  man  took  unto  himself  a  partial  respon- 
[43] 


The  Locusts*  Tears 

sibility  for  her  tears.  Judge  Barton  planned  to 
wipe  out  the  memory  of  his  unchivalrous  conduct  by 
his  most  deferential  manner  and  his  very  best  con- 
versation. CoUingwood  dreamed  of  abasing  him- 
self, and  of  settling  without  delay  all  doubts  as  to 
his  attitude.  If  he  saw  a  rosy  vision  of  Miss  Pon- 
sonby  reconciled  to  him  and  forgiving,  he  was  not 
altogether  conceited.  He  had  been  a  man  decid- 
edly popular  with  women.  But  when  the  sixteen 
weary  hours  had  passed  away,  and  the  afternoon 
shift  of  nurses  brought  not  Miss  Ponsonby  but  the 
red-haired  lady  of  cheerful  temperament,  Judge 
Barton's  instinctive  sigh  was  speedily  followed  by 
a  rapt  interest  in  Collingwood.  That  young  man 
had  allowed  his  disappointment  to  express  itself  by 
an  involuntary  twist  in  bed,  so  that  he  yelled  in 
agony. 


[44] 


CHAPTER  III 

SOME  five  or  six  weeks  after  the  events  nar- 
rated in  the  preceding  chapters,  Judge  Bar- 
ton's Australian  chestnuts  were  rattling 
their  silver-plated  harness  on  the  Luneta  driveway 
at  sunset,  while  their  owner  was  threading  the 
mazes  of  a  Sunday-night  carriage  jam.  He  had 
that  day  returned  from  a  short  vacation  in  Japan, 
where  he  had  gone  to  recuperate  after  his  attack 
of  fever. 

The  hot  season  was  coming  on  apace,  and  but 
little  breeze  disturbed  the  waters  of  the  bay,  which 
were  sombred  by  the  reflections  of  slate-colored 
clouds  streaked  across  the  zenith.  The  brilliancy 
of  the  sunset  seemed  to  have  driven  apart  the  clouds 
in  the  west,  however,  where  the  sky  was  enamelled 
in  hues  of  jade  and  amber  and  turquoise,  seamed 
here  and  there  with  gold,  and  occasionally  with  a 
fading  line  of  dark  vapor.  With  the  purple  shapes 
of  the  mountains  extending  to  right  and  left,  with 
the  foreshortened  sweep  of  the  waters,  and  with  the 

[45] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

motionless  lines  of  the  anchored  vessels,  the  distant 
picture  flamed  out  like  a  theatre  curtain,  while  the 
motley  assemblage  which  filled  the  oval  around  the 
bandstand  was  not  unsuggestive  of  a  waiting 
audience. 

As  he  was  in  the  act  of  leaning  forward  to  note 
the  outline  of  a  great  five-masted  freighter,  an- 
chored abreast  the  bandstand,  Judge  Barton  caught 
sight  of  a  profile  which  was  vaguely  familiar  to 
him,  but  which,  for  a  moment,  he  quite  failed  to 
associate  with  a  name.  A  second  later,  he  remem- 
bered that  he  had  always  seen  Miss  Ponsonby  in 
her  nurse's  cap,  and  he  could  not  determine  whether 
it  was  the  harmonious  effect  of  imported  millinery 
or  some  radical  change  in  herself  which  lent  a  charm 
to  her  face  never  found  there  before. 

As  for  the  man  at  her  side,  it  was  something  of  a 
triumph  to  perceive  the  hat  at  just  the  angle  at 
which  the  Judge's  imagination  had  pictured  it,  the 
angle  affected  by  a  very  smart  enlisted  man. 

It  was  not  wholly  in  response  to  the  political  in- 
stinct which,  in  a  democracy,  bestows  handshakes 
in  place  of  largesse,  that  Judge  Barton  made  his 
way  to  the  carriage  in  which  Miss  Ponsonby  sat. 
Since  the  miserable  Christmas  Eve  when  he  had 

[46] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

succeeded  in  pricking  her  into  a  fencing  match,  he 
had  not  seen  her.  On  the  following  day,  she  was 
put  on  day  duty  in  another  ward,  in  accordance 
with  some  mysterious  system  of  change  pursued 
in  the  hospital.  Within  three  or  four  days  more, 
the  Judge  was  pronounced  able  to  begin  the 
journey  up  the  China  coast,  from  which  he  had 
only  that  day  returned.  When  he  left  the  hos- 
pital, Collingwood  was  convalescent,  but  was 
suffering  from  a  moroseness  which  his  observant 
neighbor  attributed  to  thwarted  affection. 

Miss  Ponsonby  greeted  her  quondam  patient  not 
with  coldness,  which  may  imply  an  intentionally 
concealed  interest,  but  lifelessly,  with  an  indiffer- 
ence almost  impertinent.  Judge  Barton  felt  the  in- 
difference, was  chilled  by  it,  and  revenged  himself 
by  a  guarded  significance  of  manner  which  did  not 
amount  to  ill  breeding,  but  which  hinted  at  an  ex- 
pectation gratified,  and  made  her,  as  he  was  de- 
lighted to  perceive,  self-conscious  and  ill  at  ease. 
The  feeling  with  which  he  had  approached  her  was 
genial  and  kindly.  To  find  himself  suddenly  en- 
veloped in  the  atmosphere  of  challenge,  of  reserve, 
of  dumb  interrogation  of  the  providential  workings 
of  this  world,  stirred  up  in  him  the  old  desire  to 

[47] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

push  her  just  a  little  bit  closer  to  the  wall  against 
which  her  back  was  so  resolutely  set.  It  was  not 
a  chivalrous  feeling,  but  it  was  a  very  human  and 
natural  one,  which  might  have  been  shared  by  mil- 
lions of  the  Judge's  fellow-citizens,  far  more  pre- 
tentious than  he  was  in  the  matter  of  Christian 
charity  and  brotherhood. 

Miss  Ponsonby  was  looking  even  paler  and 
thinner  than  she  had  looked  at  Christmas.  There 
was  a  purpling  thickness  in  her  eyeUds,  there  was  a 
depth  of  shadow  beneath,  which,  to  an  attentive  ob- 
server, hinted  at  tears  and  vigils  in  the  night.  In 
her  listlessness,  and  in  a  sweet  effort  in  her  smile, 
the  Judge  found,  in  the  further  course  of  the  talk, 
the  signs  of  conquest.  It  was  as  if,  driven  to  bay, 
she  sought  help  even  from  her  enemies  to  ease  the 
agony  of  surrender.  The  Judge  was  not  hard- 
hearted. So  long  as  she  fought,  he  was  willing  to 
stab  and  prick.  At  the  first  sign  of  feminine  weak- 
ness, at  the  sight  of  her  beaten  and  shrinking,  he 
was  ready  to  forget  that  only  a  few  weeks  before 
he  had  been  rather  eager  to  see  her  reduced  to  hu- 
mility. His  concern  for  her  finally  found  utter- 
ance in  the  hope  that  she  was  going  to  indulge  in  a 
much  needed  rest.     "You  know  I  always  said,  when 

[48] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

I  was  in  the  hospital,  that  you  needed  nursing  just 
as  much  as  Collingwood  and  I  did,  if  not  more,"  he 
added. 

She  thanked  him  rather  formally,  and  he  de- 
tected in  her  stiffness  an  access  of  shyness.  A  faint 
color  dyed  her  cheek. 

Collingwood,  whose  resemblance  to  a  pagan  deity 

—  or  to  a  young  ruffian  —  was  stronger  than  ever, 
broke  in  joyously: 

"Oh,  she  's  going  to  take  a  vacation,  all  right 

—  a  long  one,  in  fact,  for  the  rest  of  her  life  — 
with  me.  You  are  quite  right,  Judge.  She  does 
need  care,  and  I  '11  see  that  she  gets  it." 

Miss  Ponsonby's  face  rivalled  the  afterglow  into 
which  the  gorgeous  spectacle  before  them  was  be- 
ginning to  melt  like  metals  fused  in  a  crucible ;  but, 
after  an  instant,  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  gazed  with 
a  remarkable  intensity  at  Judge  Barton.  If  her 
self -consciousness  had  originated  in  a  prescience  of 
his  astonishment,  it  was  not  more  painful  than  his 
own  chagrin  at  having  betrayed  himself.  He  had 
certainly  not  expected  her  to  marry  Martin  Colling- 
wood. He  had  taken  a  mild  pleasure  in  letting  her 
perceive  that  he  divined  her  struggles  in  a  com- 
promise with  her  pride  for  the  sake  of  a  few  pass- 


4 


[49] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

ing  attentions  and  pleasures;  but  never  had  it 
occurred  to  him  that  she  could  possibly  bridge  the 
distance  between  herself  and  Collingwood  in  mar- 
riage. To  have  exhibited  his  utter  amazement  en- 
raged him  with  himself.  He  recovered  himself 
promptly,  however,  and,  in  turn,  tendered  a  firm 
white  hand  to  each. 

"Bless  you,  my  children,"  he  said  blandly,  "I 
showed  some  surprise,  but  really  I  don't  know  why. 
The  thing  is  obviously  appropriate." 

There  was  a  dryness  in  CoUingwood's  reply 
which  made  him,  for  a  moment,  almost  as  impres- 
sive as  the  Judge  himself. 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so.  That  was  my  opinion 
from  the  first,  but  I  had  considerable  difficulty  in 
getting  Miss  Ponsonby  to  take  my  view  of  it,  and 
even  yet  she  has  her  moments  of  doubt." 

Miss  Ponsonby  gave  him  a  shy  little  smile,  but 
at  the  end  of  the  fleeting  movement,  her  eyes  again 
sought  the  Judge's  with  the  same  questioning  in- 
tensity, so  that  he  was  amazed  to  find  himself  an- 
swering aloud. 

"Obviously  appropriate,"  he  repeated,  "and  for 
a  hundred  reasons:  first,  my  dear  young  lady,  so 
charming  a  person  as  yourself  has  no  business  rust- 

[60] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

ing  out  in  the  fatigues  of  your  profession ;  second, 
because  this  young  free-lance  needs  somebody  to 
look  after  him;  third,  because  marriage  is  to  be 
encouraged  on  general  principles."  At  this  point 
he  seemed  to  recognize  the  necessity  of  steering  the 
conversational  bark  into  safer  waters,  and  endeav- 
ored to  divert  it  by  pleasantry  at  his  own  expense. 
"Although  I  have  not  been  able  to  induce  any  young 
woman  to  share  my  joys  and  sorrows,  believe  me, 
it  is  not  because  I  am  opposed  to  the  institution. 
If  I  am  an  old  bachelor,  it  is  not  for  lack  of  trying 
to  marry." 

It  was  Collingwood  who  made  the  humanely 
frank  rejoinder,  "I  guess  you  haven't  tried  very 
hard  since  you  have  been  on  the  bench,  have  you, 
Judge?" 

It  is  strange  how  a  man  may  both  resent  a  fact 
and  take  pride  in  it.  Six  weeks  before,  when  the 
Judge  had  wished  to  put  a  squabbling  young 
woman  in  her  place,  he  had  rather  gloried  in  the 
material  advantages  connected  with  his  position. 
A  hint  that  his  position  might  win  him  a  wife  when 
his  personahty  unaided  could  not  do  so,  rasped  his 
nerves.  Charlotte  saw  him  wince  and  returned 
good  for  evil. 

[51] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Ah!  you  are  not  sincere.  You  are  too  modern 
to  believe  in  marriage." 

"Is  it  in  an  ironical  spirit,  then,  do  you  think, 
that  I  beg  an  invitation  to  yours?" 

"But  it  will  be  so  very  quiet  —  not  even  cards  or 
cake;  and  only  one  or  two  of  Mr.  Collingwood's 
friends,  and  one  or  two  of  mine,  to  give  us  coun- 
tenance." 

"To  keep  us  from  feeling  that  we  are  eloping," 
said  Colhngwood  blithely. 

"Am  I  not  the  very  man  to  do  that?  If  there 
is  no  other  way,  I  must  be  railroaded  in  in  an  official 
capacity.  Does  not  Collingwood  need  a  best  man? 
Does  not  the  marriage  ceremony  call  for  a  parent 
to  give  the  bride  away  — *  Who  giveth  this  woman  to 
be  married  to  this  man?' —  and  all  that?" 

This  was  pure  advertising  propaganda,  a  way  to 
one  of  those  newspaper  squibs  which  delight  both 
the  snobbishness  and  the  sentimentality  of  Ameri- 
cans. In  the  slight  pause  which  ensued,  the  Judge 
had  a  momentary  sensation  of  being  weighed  in 
a  very  delicately  balanced  mind,  and  of  being  found 
wanting.  But  Charlotte  only  said,  "You  may 
come  if  you  wish.  But  it  is  sooner  than  you  an- 
ticipate —  very  soon." 

[8«] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

"To-morrow  morning  at  seven-thirty,"  inter- 
jected CoUingwood.  "We  are  going  out  on  the 
Coastguard  boat  at  ten." 

Here  was  a  burning  of  bridges,  a  lover  who 
wooed  and  a  maid  who  did  not  dally!  The  Judge 
asked  where  the  ceremony  would  take  place,  and 
was  told  to  come  to  a  certain  church  not  far  from 
the  hospital.  Once  more  his  over-restraint  be- 
trayed him,  and  Miss  Ponsonby  guessed  his  sur- 
prise. 

"We  were  both  brought  up  Catholics,"  she  said, 
"and  though  we  have  neither  of  us  clung  very 
closely  to  the  Mother  Church,  that  is  where  we  nat- 
urally turn  on  such  an  occasion.  We  have  not 
needed  a  dispensation.  The  path  has  been  easy." 
She  smiled  enigmatically. 

"No,  we  have  n't  needed  a  dispensation  from  the 
Pope,"  said  CoUingwood,  "but  apparently  we  can- 
not manage  our  own  affairs  without  the  help  of  the 
Civil  Government.  I  am  not  sure  that  we  shall 
get  through  to-morrow  without  the  appearance  of 
some  of  the  gang  declaring  that  there  are  reasons 
why  this  woman  should  not  be  married  to  this  man." 

"The  Civil  Government?"  repeated  Judge  Bar- 
ton,  mystified.     Then   a   light   broke   upon   him. 

[53] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Of  course  —  you  are  under  contract."  He  ad- 
dressed Miss  Ponsonby. 

"My  service  under  contract  was  fulfilled  five 
months  ago,"  she  replied.  "I  am  at  liberty  to  leave 
Government  employ  any  moment  I  wish." 

**But  they  are  long  on  eminent  medicos  and  short 
on  nurses,"  went  on  Collingwood,  whose  spirits 
were  evidently  riotous,  "and  when  Miss  Ponsonby 
sent  in  her  resignation,  they  informed  her  of  the 
fact,  and,  by  the  Lord!  they  had  the  effrontery  to 
expect  us  to  arrange  our  affairs  to  suit  their  con- 
venience. The  letter  has  gone  back  and  forth  till 
it  has  eighteen  endorsements.  It  hove  in  sight  a 
few  days  ago  in  an  extra  large  envelope.  I  told 
Charlotte  to  put  on  a  nineteenth,  and  to  end  the 
whole  matter  by  telling  the  Civil  Commission  and 
the  Bureau  of  Health  and  the  Marine  Hospital 
Service  all  three  to  go  to  the  devil." 

"Which  it  was  manifestly  impossible  for  me  to 
do,"  added  Miss  Ponsonby,  blushing. 

"Manifestly,"  assented  the  Judge,  with  a  short 
laugh.  To  him  whose  whole  policy  was  diplomacy 
here  was  temerity  in  a  twentieth  century  citizen  of 
the  American  Republic  to  mock  the  Civil  Commis- 

[64] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

sion.    As  well  a  Venetian  in  the  twelfth  had  jeered 
at  the  Council  of  Ten. 

"Manifestly  is  a  good  word,"  Collingwood  went 
on.  "It  was,  as  you  say,  manifestly  impossible  that 
Miss  Ponsonby  should  tell  the  Bureau  of  Health 
to  go  to  the  devil,  but  it  was  manifestly  ordained 
that  I  should  write  them  a  letter,  telling  them  what 
I  thought  of  them,  and  telling  them  to  go  to  the 
devil's  place  of  residence;  which  I  did.  Forth- 
with, Miss  Ponsonby  was  fired,  bag  and  baggage, 
from  Civil  employ.  They  had  not  seen  their  way 
to  releasing  her  for  six  months,  but  when  she 
crossed  Their  High-Mightinesses  —  or  when  I  did  it 
for  her  —  they  could  let  her  go  in  twenty- four 
hours.  Well,  what 's  one  man's  meat  is  another 
man's  poison.  I  don't  know  about  their  poison,  but 
I  knew  my  meat  when  they  put  it  in  my  hand, 
and  I  'm  not  the  man  to  let  it  go." 

"I  see."  There  was  a  falling  off  in  Judge  Bar- 
ton's interest  in  the  romance,  but  he  struggled  to 
conceal  his  feelings.  He  fancied  also  that  Miss 
Ponsonby  was  embarrassed,  almost  annoyed,  at  her 
lover's  frankness.  "To-morrow  morning,  you  say, 
at  seven-thirty  ?    I  '11  be  there." 

[55] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

He  turned  away  after  his  most  impressive  hand- 
shake, and  still  pondering  this  inexplicable  step 
on  the  lady's  part,  sought  his  own  carriage.  Was 
she  led  by  romance  simply,  by  the  belated  desire 
for  love-making  and  mating  which  might  easily 
seize  upon  a  woman  passing  rapidly  away  from  the 
age  when  romance  is  a  right?  Or  had  she,  with 
a  shrewdness  which  belied  her  late  folly,  decided  to 
accommodate  herself  to  the  rather  material  atmos- 
phere which  prevails  in  Manila?  Had  she  per- 
ceived that  CoUingwood  was  of  the  stuff  to  win 
out  in  whatever  he  undertook?  And  had  she  volun- 
tarily embraced  a  temporary  eif  acement  with  him 
in  order  to  return  to  the  world  better  equipped 
for  the  struggle  to  impress  it  with  her  person- 
ality? Whatever  was  her  motive,  she  was  not 
wholly  a  happy  bride,  and  yet, — there  was  some- 
thing in  that  fleeting  smile  which  she  had  given 
Collingwood,  something  very  tender,  exquisitely 
feminine,  which  touched  the  Judge  and  roused  in 
him  a  grudging  spirit  toward  the  man  who  had 
reached  out  his  hand  to  take  what  he,  Alexander 
Barton,  had  never  dreamed  of  taking.  The  Judge 
was  baffled,  and  was  about  to  give  up  the  problem, 
when  the  well-known  flgure  of  his  friend  Mrs.  Bad- 

[56] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

gerly  recalled  her  cleverness  in  analysis  and  her  un- 
bounded effrontery  in  stating  her  conclusions.  He 
went  immediately  to  submit  his  difficulty  to  her. 

Collingwood  and  his  betrothed  continued  listen- 
ing to  the  evening  concert  in  a  silence  which  may 
have  expressed  their  entire  proprietary  assumption 
of  each  other,  but  which,  on  the  gentleman's  part, 
was  permeated  with  the  watchfulness  of  one  hand- 
ling an  overfilled  glass.  He  was  anxious  not  to 
joggle  his  companion's  reserve,  as  if  he  feared  that 
the  spilhng  of  a  drop  or  two  of  what  was  passing 
in  her  mind  might  leave  a  few  acid  scars  upon  his 
complacency.  There  had  been,  as  you  felt,  no  easy 
courtship.  If ,  in  the  presence  of  others,  he  chose  to 
carry  it  off  with  a  high  hand,  when  he  was  left  alone 
with  her,  he  betrayed  that,  until  the  final  blessing 
should  have  been  said  over  them  the  next  day,  he 
was  more  or  less  in  doubt  of  his  captive.  His 
blurting  out  the  news  of  their  approaching  mar- 
riage to  Judge  Barton  had  been  a  stroke  of  policy 
as  well  as  an  overflow  of  pride.  His  lover's  watch- 
fulness, combating  with  his  lover's  tenderness,  told 
him  that  every  pressure  must  be  brought  to  bear  to 
keep  her  from  halting  even  at  the  last  moment. 
He  had  realized  from  his  earliest  acquaintance  with 

[57] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

her  that  she  was  overworked  and  at  the  point  of 
a  nervous  and  physical  breakdown.  He  knew  from 
her  own  admissions  that  she  had  no  relatives  to 
whom  she  was  willing  to  apply  for  assistance.  He 
had  had  her  shy  confession  of  affection  for  him  and 
no  few  glimpses  at  a  depth  of  feeling  which  she 
would  not  wholly  reveal.  His  own  rashness  in 
meddhng  in  her  dispute  with  the  Government  of- 
ficials had  cost  her  her  means  of  livelihood,  in  the 
Islands,  at  least,  and  his  own  business  was  press- 
ing him.  These  reasons,  even  unsupported  by  the 
ardor  of  his  love  for  her,  seemed  to  justify  him  in 
applying  all  the  pressure  he  could  to  hurry  Char- 
lotte into  marriage;  but  he  could  not  be  bhnd  to  her 
reluctance,  to  a  timidity  and  foreboding  which  she 
would  not  explain  but  which  caused  her  no  little 
unhappiness. 

Miss  Ponsonby  sat  on  in  a  reverie  not  altogether 
pleasant,  as  one  or  two  changes  in  her  sensitive 
countenance  testified.  She  was  so  preoccupied  that 
she  remained  unconscious  of  the  playing  of  the 
national  anthem,  of  the  dispersal  of  the  crowd,  and 
of  the  threats  of  a  few  spattering  raindrops  which 
were  not  followed  by  a  shower,  but  which  sent  the 
coachman  to  put  up  the  hood  of  their  victoria.     The 

[68] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

darkness  had  quite  closed  down  upon  them,  the 
lights  on  the  shipping  were  huddled  like  little  sub- 
urban villages  on  the  plain  of  waters,  and  the  flash- 
light on  Corregidor  was  winking  an  occasional  red 
eye  low  down  against  the  sea,  when  Collingwood 
laid  an  almost  timorous  hand  upon  his  betrothed's 
arm. 

"Don't  worry.  Leave  that  to  me.  It  is  my  side 
of  the  contract.  Why  do  you  take  this  ridiculous 
quarrel  so  seriously?  Besides,  it  was  my  fault.  I 
jumped  in  —  oh!  just  because  I  felt  so  good  that 
I  wanted  to  tackle  the  world." 

"It  is  an  omen.  It  is  the  recurrence  of  con- 
ditions that  have  always  weighed  me  down.  What- 
ever I  do,  there  is  someone  to  be  annoyed  and 
offended  at  the  act.  I  am  in  disgrace.  I  have  been 
unutterably  lonely  in  Manila,  and  I  felt  that  in 
our  marriage,  at  least,  there  would  be  the  compen- 
sation of  having  no  one  to  object;  and  now  these 
offended  dignitaries  project  themselves  into  the  af- 
fair, trailing  their  forked  lightnings  of  displeasure. 
Why  must  combat  hover  over  my  head?  Why 
must  I  fight  for  what  drops  into  the  laps  of  other 
women?" 

"You  could  n't  fight,"  said  Collingwood.  "You 
[59] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

have  n't  fought.  You  have  only  been  wearied  and 
discouraged  and  unhappy.  When  I  came  in  and 
did  a  little  fighting  for  you,  it  paralyzed  you. 
What  is  a  row  more  or  less  —  and  least  of  all,  un- 
der the  circumstances?  It  would  take  more  than 
exchanging  compUments  with  the  Bureau  of  Health 
to  unsettle  my  spirits  to-night." 

"It  crushes  me,"  replied  Charlotte.  "Besides, 
you  have  not  had  my  life." 

Collingwood  studied  her  through  the  gloom. 
Her  last  words  were  a  lifting  of  the  veil  which,  she 
had  assured  him,  hid  much  pain.  He  had  been  able 
to  account  for  her  reluctance  in  being  hurried  into 
an  early  marriage  through  reasons  which  reflected 
credit  upon  her  and  were  not  uncomplimentary  to 
himself.  To  marry  a  man  who  had  come  into  her 
life  less  than  three  months  before  and  who  was  plan- 
ning to  carry  her  off  to  a  practically  uninhabited  is- 
land in  the  Pacific  Ocean  might  well  have  daunted 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  much  more  daring  spirit  than 
hers.  Collingwood's  social  traditions  were  rudi- 
mentary beside  hers;  but  even  he,  pagan  that  he 
was,  could  make  allowances  for  nervousness  on  that 
score.  What  he  could  not  account  for  was  her  evi- 
dent misgiving  of  the  ultimate  outcome  of  their 

[60] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

romance.  She  was  vexed  by  doubts  which  she  was 
unwilling  to  share  with  him,  and  yet  a  few  frank 
words  in  the  early  days  of  their  engagement  had 
sufficed  to  remove  all  thought  that  she  was  conceal- 
ing from  him  anything  that  he  ought  to  know. 

She  had  told  him  that  she  had  been  practically 
an  orphan  since  infancy;  that  till  she  was  fourteen 
years  of  age,  she  had  been  brought  up  in  a  con- 
vent ;  that  at  fourteen  she  went  to  live  in  the  family 
of  her  mother's  cousin ;  that  she  had  been  educated 
at  Smith  College,  taking  her  bachelor's  degree  there; 
that  she  had  found  the  bread  of  dependence  ex- 
ceedingly hard  to  eat,  and,  in  defiance  of  her  rel- 
atives' wishes,  had  taken  her  training  as  a  nurse; 
and  finally,  that  she  had  come  to  the  Phihppines 
to  put  as  great  a  distance  as  possible  between  herself 
and  them,  to  whom  her  career  was  a  source  of  hu- 
miliation. "There  has  never  been,  in  my  past  life, 
one  act  of  which  you  or  I  should  be  ashamed. 
There  have  been  no  events,  no  episodes,  nothing  but 
a  series  of  petty  humiliations,  of  wasted  efforts, 
and  of  thwarted  ambitions  which  I  cannot  talk 
about  even  to  you.  I  want  to  forget  them.  They 
have  almost  overwhelmed  me.  I  have  been  —  I 
am  —  on  the  verge  of  becoming  morbidly  intro- 

[61] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

spective  and  retrospective.  Help  me  to  put  the 
past  away,  but  not  because  there  is  one  thing  in 
it  that  you  ought  to  know." 

To  such  an  appeal  a  lover  can  make  but  one  re- 
ply. After  that,  whenever  Collingwood  saw  her 
struggling  with  one  of  her  moods  of  gloom,  he  bent 
his  energies  to  its  conquest,  none  the  less  wilHngly 
that  he  had  discovered  a  ready  charm  for  its  exor- 
cising in  the  caresses  for  which  his  own  affection 
was  glad  to  find  an  excuse. 

He  had  early  learned  the  futility  of  argument 
against  her  despondent  moods,  not  only  because  her 
intelligence  was  better  trained  than  his  own,  but  be- 
cause, as  he  admitted  to  himself,  she  had  all  the 
argument  on  her  side.  But  he  possessed,  in  the 
final  appeal  to  tenderness,  a  power  before  which  she 
was  invariably  vanquished.  There  was,  in  her  shy 
acceptance  of  his  caresses,  an  element  of  childishness, 
of  a  child  yielding  to  some  forbidden  pleasure,  self- 
rebuking,  fearing  a  price  to  be  paid,  yet  infinitely 
content  in  the  moment.  She  was  wonderfully  self- 
reliant  in  her  thinking  processes,  and  adorably  de- 
pendent in  her  emotions.  She  could  think,  and  she 
was  begging  of  the  unseen  Fates  to  be  spared  think- 
ing.    She  could  decide,  but  she  was  grateful  to  him 

[62] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

for  taking  decision  out  of  her  hands.  She  loved 
him,  but  she  found  unutterable  difficulty  in  voic- 
ing her  feelings.  He  had  found,  in  truth,  what  the 
coquette  must  skilfully  feign  —  the  woman's  dread 
of  her  own  emotions,  the  alternate  advance  and  re- 
treat, the  struggle  with  her  own  nature,  before  she 
could  submit  to  a  master.  She  was  veritably  a 
wild  creature,  striving  to  conceal  the  fact,  a  woman 
of  nearly  thirty  as  timid  as  a  girl  in  her  teens.  He 
was  secretly  amused  at  the  evident  difficulty  she 
experienced  in  recognizing  her  own  capacity  for 
romance  and  affection;  but  her  careful  repression 
of  her  emotions  lent  savor  to  a  wooing  which  had 
in  it  some  of  the  elements  of  mediaevalism.  For  the 
time  when  she  would  see  fit  to  cease  her  own  struggle 
against  the  mysterious  influences  which  he  felt  bat- 
tling against  him,  he  could  afford  to  wait.  That 
such  a  time  would  come,  his  natural  optimism  and 
his  previous  experiences  with  women  made  him  cer- 
tain. In  the  meanwhile,  he  did  not  intend  to  risk 
a  chance  word  as  he  felt  his  hand  so  near  closing 
on  hers  forever. 

Protected  by  the  darkness  within  the  carriage 
hood,  he  threw  an  arm  about  her  and  held  her 
pressed  to  his  side  while  he  put  his  lips  against  hers 

[63] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

and  finally  pressed  his  face  against  her  cheek  in  a 
wordless  caress. 

**There  is  nothing  to  be  said  that  we  have  not 
said,"  he  murmured  at  length.  "But  I  entreat  you, 
in  God's  name,  put  your  fears  aside  to-night.  Are 
we  the  first  man  and  woman  who  have  dared  risk 
and  calamity  for  the  sake  of  loving?  Oh!  the  word 
sticks  in  your  throat,  I  dare  say.  It  is  wonderful 
how  you  have  coquetted  with  every  reason  which 
may  excuse  our  marriage  except  the  only  one  that 
justifies  it." 

"Ah,  if  I  only  knew  that  we  could  be  sure  of 
ourselves,"  she  murmured.  "But  suppose  it  is  a 
mistake;  suppose  you  find  me  something  different 
from  what  you  fancy  me  —  I  tell  you  every  day 
that  you  idealize  me  —  that  I  cannot  live  up  to 
your  conception  of  me  1  Suppose  you  come  to  hate 
me,  as  some  men  do  hate  women  that  are  tied  for 
life  to  them,  millstones  around  their  necks  I  "  She 
shuddered. 

It  was  a  line  of  thought  so  unnatural  for  a  girl 
to  indulge  in  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage,  that  Col- 
lingwood  found  time  for  a  moment's  wonder  what 
could  have  been  the  formative  influences  of  her  life 
to  make  her  look  so  despondently  on  her  own  powers 

[64] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

of  holding  affection.  But  the  moment  was  not  for 
indecision.  Collingwood  drew  his  face  away  from 
hers  although  he  still  continued  to  encircle  her  with 
his  arm. 

"You  may  not  be  sure  of  yourself,"  he  said. 
"The  processes  of  your  education  seem  to  have  left 
you  muddled  on  matters  that  you  ought  to  have 
been  clear  on  before  now.  But  I  'm  sure  of  my- 
self. I  'm  marrying  you  for  love  —  for  a  consum- 
ing passion,  if  you  hke  the  term.  I  got  it  out  of 
a  novel.  I  don't  pretend  to  combat  your  reasons. 
All  that  you  have  said  may  be  in  the  Ught  of  proph- 
ecy. You  may  be  right,  but  no  power  on  earth 
could  make  me  give  you  up  without  the  utmost 
struggle  that  I  am  capable  of.  I  believe  that  we 
have  a  happy  life  before  us.  But  if  I  believed  that 
it  was  going  to  end  in  the  blackest  tribulation  that 
man  ever  entered  into  this  side  of  the  eternal  tor- 
ments, I  would  go  on  and  mortgage  my  life  for  the 
few  weeks  of  joy  I  've  had  and  the  few  that  may  be 
ahead  of  us  before  the  thing  goes  to  smash.  As 
for  you,  you  have  resisted  at  every  step,  and  I  've 
felt  every  minute  that  you  were  fighting  yourself 
more  than  me."  He  crushed  her  against  him  sud- 
denly, and  as  suddenly  dropped  his  arm  from  her 
s  [65] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

waist.  "There,  now,  you  are  free.  Do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  that  you  like  this  better  —  that  you  are 
not  happy  in  my  arms?  Then  something  in  you 
that  is  n't  your  tongue  lies.  Why,  I  Ve  felt  it  at 
every  caress  I  've  ever  given  you  —  the  struggle  and 
the  yielding  and  the  gladness.  Come!  Stop 
coquetting  with  yourself !     Is  n't  it  so  ?" 

In  the  minute  or  two  which  intervened  before 
her  reply,  he  held  his  breath  for  fear  he  had  gone 
too  far.  Then  the  soundness  of  his  instinctive  judg- 
ment was  demonstrated  to  his  entire  satisfaction. 
For  a  second  or  two  Miss  Ponsonby  strained  her 
clasped  hands  to  her  eyes,  then  she  deliberately 
nestled  back  to  his  side,  and  slipped  an  arm  around 
his  neck.  She  began  to  cry,  the  first  tears  her  lover 
had  seen  her  shed,  though  he  suspected  that  she  shed 
many,  and  he  hushed  her  to  his  breast  as  if  she  were 
a  grieving  child.  She  cried  very  quietly,  and  he 
knew  that  she  was  ashamed  of  her  weakness.  She 
soon  regained  control  of  herself,  and  she  answered 
his  question  with  an  instinctive  sense  of  fairness 
which  he  had  often  noticed  in  her.  Most  women 
would  have  taken  advantage  of  the  tears  to  evade 
an  acknowledgment  of  defeat. 

"You  are  right,  Martin,"  she  admitted.     "I  have 


The  Locusts^  Years 

coquetted  with  myself.  I  have  been  pretending 
to  myself  that  I  meant  ultimately  to  back  out,  and 
in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  knew  I  would  not,  I  knew 
I  could  not.  I  have  been  selfish.  I  have  spoiled 
your  happiness,  and  refused  to  accept  my  own  for 
fear  of  the  future.  Yours  is  the  only  sensible  view. 
There  are  chances  —  but  we  cannot  reason,  we  can- 
not think.  We  must  just  take  what  life  gives  us; 
and  if  by  and  by  comes  sorrow,  why,  we've  had 
a  little  taste  of  joy.  I  am  through  coquetting, 
dear.  I  am  happy  —  now  —  here.  I  do  not  care 
what  comes.  I  've  been  a  wretched  prophet  of  evil, 
because  secretly  I  meant  to  ride  rough-shod  over 
whatever  I  summoned  to  oppose.  I  surrender.  I 
throw  myself  on  your  mercy.  I  don't  deserve 
quarter,  but  I  know  you  will  give  it." 

There  was  a  very  long  silence  in  the  victoria.  At 
the  end  of  it,  Mi^s  Ponsonby  said  with  a  little 
choking  laugh,  "But,  Martin,  I  —  I  distrust  I  'm 
marrying  my  master." 

"Not  the  least  doubt  about  it,"  said  Colling- 
wood.  "But  when  masters  are  the  right  sort  — 
fellows  like  me,  for  instance  —  they  are  not  a  bad 
thing  for  some  women  to  have  —  women  like  yoa, 
for  instance." 

[67] 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHAT  the  buried  archives  are  to  the 
archaeologist,  the  trunkf  ul  of  old  letters 
is  to  the  novehst.  But  before  those 
light-giving  documents  are  brought  forth,  a  little 
family  history  should  be  detailed  as  preface. 

In  the  year  1872  the  Civil  War  had  been  more 
generally  forgotten  in  the  North  than  in  the  South. 
In  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  however,  a  goodly 
circle  of  antislavery  agitators  still  kept  up  the  fight 
in  favor  of  the  black  man.  The  Fourteenth 
Amendment  had  not  then  been  made,  nor  those 
celebrated  discussions  which  fixed  its  interpretation 
and  application;  but  the  reconstruction  of  the 
Southern  States  still  left  plenty  of  ground  for 
bitter  speech  and  feeling. 

Prominent  among  that  circle  and  among  the  old 
Boston  families  of  that  day  was  the  widow  of  a 
man  who  had  literally  given  his  life  to  the  anti- 
slavery  cause,  for  he  had  died  during  the  War  of 
overwork  upon  an  antislavery  journal.     His  widow 

[68] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

belonged  to  a  family  that  for  two  hundred  years 
or  more  had  been  prominent  in  state  and  national 
affairs.  When  her  husband  died  and  left  her  and 
a  half -grown  daughter  almost  penniless  among  a 
wealthy  kindred,  she  found  little  or  no  difficulty 
in  getting  along;  for  their  pride  in  the  editorial 
victim  was  great,  and  she  had  been  always  a  family 
favorite. 

But  if  the  mother  was  everywhere  sought,  her 
daughter  Charlotte  found  a  less  ready  welcome.  A 
tall,  superb  beauty,  singularly  cold  at  times  and 
reserved,  at  others  fiercely  vehement,  she  was  as 
utterly  unlike  the  descendant  of  a  staid  New  Eng- 
land family  as  can  be  imagined.  It  is  regrettable 
that  she  found  little  favor  in  the  family  eyes;  and 
in  the  year  1872  she  came  to  an  out  and  out  rup- 
ture with  all  her  kindred  by  eloping  with  Mount- 
joy  Ponsonby,  a  Marylander,  a  Roman  Catholic, 
and  an  irreconcilable  son  of  slave-holding  parents. 

Mrs.  K took  to  her  bed  and  died  of  cha- 
grin. Four  years  later  the  unhappy  girl  followed 
her  mother  to  the  grave,  leaving  behind  her  a  baby 
daughter  six  months  old. 

Of  that  marriage  so  soon  ended,  the  best  and  the 
worst  that  can  be  said  is  that  it  was  unhappy.     The 

[69] 


i 

The  Locusts'  Years 

two  undisciplined  natures  who  had  defied  tradition, 
family  sentiment,  religious  training,  and  political 
inheritance  for  the  sake  of  each  other,  had  not  the 
patience  to  work  out  their  common  happiness  when 
the  infatuation  which  had  drawn  them  together 
died,  as  all  such  sudden  and  violent  emotions 
must. 

When  Mrs,  Ponsonby  turned  her  back  on  life 
and  on  an  impoverished  Southern  home  where  her 
New  England  thrift  had  struggled  ceaselessly  with 
the  indolence  and  sluggish  ways  of  a  slave-hold- 
ing household,  it  was  after  almost  all  possible  re- 
crimination had  been  exhausted  over  religion,  poli- 
tics, family  inheritance,  and  ideals  of  life.  Her 
husband,  having  buried  her  with  due  ceremony  and 
observance  in  the  Maryland  family  vaults,  betook 
himself  to  travel,  leaving  the  child  to  be  cared  for 
by  a  distant  female  relative.  When  little  Char- 
lotte was  four,  the  relative  died,  and,  as  an  ultimate 
act  of  defiance  to  his  wife's  kindred,  Ponsonby 
placed  his  daughter  in  a  Roman  Catholic  convent. 

There  the  httle  girl  remained  till  her  fourteenth 
year.  In  that  period,  she  saw  her  father  some 
six  or  eight  times.  Their  interviews  were  con- 
strained affairs,  for  Mount  joy  Ponsonby  was  not 

[70] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

a  man  of  domestic  or  affectionate  nature,  and  the 
child  of  the  wife  with  whom  he  had  quarrelled  bit- 
terly made  little  appeal  to  him.  He  usually  gave 
his  daughter  much  good  advice,  found  her  exceed- 
ingly docile,  but  equally  difficult,  and  was  always 
embarrassed  by  an  unspoken  appeal  in  her  nature 
which  he  dumbly  resented.  He  looked  forward 
with  repugnance  and  dread  to  the  days  when  she 
could  be  no  longer  stuffed  away  in  a  convent,  and 
he  rather  hoped  that  she  would  feel  herself  reli- 
giously called  upon  to  stay  there. 

Like  many  other  men,  he  had  formed  the  habit 
of  looking  on  himself  as  immortal,  so  that  when 
he  was  instantly  killed  by  being  thrown  from  his 
horse,  he  had  made  no  provision  for  his  child's 
future.  On  his  own  side  of  the  family  there  was 
no  near  kindred ;  and  the  Boston  relatives  instantly 
put  in  a  claim  for  the  custody  of  little  Charlotte. 

The  man  who  was  most  actively  interested  in  the 
little  girl's  future  was  one  Cornelius  Spencer,  a 
dry,  hard-working,  quiet  man,  capable  of  loving 
with  singular  intensity  and  equally  capable  of  con- 
cealing his  emotions.  He  had  paid  a  quiet  court 
to  the  beautiful  Charlotte  K ,  and  family  gos- 
sip said  that  he  took  her  elopement  very  seriously; 

[71] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

but  it  was  all  conjecture,  for  he  kept  his  own  coun- 
sel. A  year  later,  he  married  Martha  Winston, 
her  cousin,  a  lady  who,  furthermore  said  family 
gossip,  had  been  in  love  with  him  for  several  years. 

The  Spencer  marriage  turned  out  well;  how 
nearly  that  well  may  be  translated  happily ,  who 
can  say?  At  least,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cornelius  Spencer 
were  a  decorous  couple,  he  given  to  amassing  this 
world's  goods,  she  devoted  to  a  thrifty  oversight  of 
their  expenditures  and  to  a  calm  enjoyment  of  their 
prosperity.  Two  daughters  came  to  them,  hand- 
some children  whose  education  from  the  first  was 
up  to  the  strictest  standards  of  conservative  Bos- 
ton. 

There  was  much  sage  wagging  of  heads  among 
the  Boston  kin  when  Cornelius  Spencer  came  for- 
ward as  the  potential  guardian  of  the  orphan 
immured  in  the  convent.  But  though  they  con- 
jectured again,  Mrs.  Spencer  kept  her  own  counsel 
as  her  husband  had  kept  his  years  before.  Of 
course,  said  the  kinship,  it  was  a  bitter  pill  to  her. 

Charlotte    K had    always    outshone    her    in 

brains,  in  wit,  in  beauty.  She  had  been  proud  to 
marry  the  man  whom  Charlotte  had  refused;  and 
to  find  that  man,  eighteen  years  later,  still  cherish- 

[72] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

ing  sentimental  memories  of  her  rival,  determined 
to  make  himself  a  second  father  to  that  rival's 
child, —  ah,  well,  Martha  was  a  remarkable  woman 
to  bear  it  all  so  quietly  1 

It  happened  that,  on  the  day  the  young  girl  ap- 
peared in  charge  of  the  nun  who  brought  her  North, 
a  very  observant  lady  was  calling  upon  Mrs.  Cor- 
neUus  Spencer.  The  lady  was  the  wife  of  an  army 
officer,  and  had  a  taste  for  letter-writing,  in  fact, 
felt  that  letter-writing  was  her  only  gift.  A  few 
extracts  from  her  epistle  to  her  husband  will  throw 
some  Ught  upon  Charlotte  Ponsonby's  girlhood  ex- 
periences. 

" — I  have   been   visiting   about   for   days   among  the 

K; kin.     They    are    as    magnificently    satisfied    with 

themselves  as  ever,  take  themselves  very  seriously,  are  as 
proud  of  their  money-making  powers  as  of  their  blue 
blood ;  really  it 's  wonderful  how  they  all  make  money,  and 
talk,  as  they  have  always  done,  from  a  very  much  higher 
plane  than  they  really  live  on. 

"Among  others,  Martha  Spencer  asked  me  to  luncheon, 
and  I  went  there  this  morning.  Really,  Cornelius  must 
have  made  oodles  of  money.  The  mere  household  accesso- 
ries were  simple  enough;  but  the  books,  the  pictures,  and 
the  curios  were  a  joy.  I  feasted  my  soul,  and  I  wished 
for  you,  my  dear,  to  enjoy  it  with  me. 

"But  I  '11  talk  of  those  things  to  you  later.     What  I 

[73] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

want  to  tell  you  about  now  is  an  incident  that  I  am  afraid 
may  slip  away  from  me,  and  I  want  to  describe  it  while  my 
impressions  are  fresh. 

*'You  remember  I  wrote  you,  in  a  previous  letter,  about 
the  lawsuit  and  how  old  Dry-as-dust  Cornelius  has  a  real 
spark  of  romance  in  him  after  all,  and  of  how  he  has  disin- 
terred his  old  love's  child  from  a  convent  where  she  was  to 
have  been  buried  alive.  It  was  my  happy  fate  to  see  the 
sequel  this  morning. 

"Martha  and  I  were  sitting  together  just  before  lunch, 
when  the  bell  rang.  *I  think  that  must  be  the  little  rela- 
tive whom  we  are  expecting,'  said  Martha,  and  a  second 
later  the  butler  ushered  in  a  nun  and  a  fourteen-year-old 
girl. 

"I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Martha's  greeting !  It  was 
exactly  what  she  would  have  given  a  woman  of  the  world, 
paying  a  morning  call.  She  was  concentrated  extract  of 
courtesy  and  breeding.  The  child,  who  was  evidently 
nervous  and  expectant  of  a  warmer  welcome  was  instantly 
chilled  by  it.  But  she  rose  to  it !  She  rose  to  it  magnifi- 
cently! She  has  rather  fine  eyes,  her  mother's  eyes  as  I 
remember  them,  and  a  self-possessed  manner  for  a  child  of 
her  age.  I  tried  to  gush  over  her  a  bit,  but  she  would  have 
none  of  me.  Having  been  rebuffed  by  her  hostess,  she  had 
no  intention  of  allowing  an  undetermined  factor  to  the  sit- 
uation to  make  amends  to  her. 

"The  nun  would  not  remain,  and  departed  immediately 
after  formally  handing  over  her  charge.  She  kissed  Char- 
lotte (the  child  is  named  for  her  mother),  and  I  rather 
fancied  that,  in  spite  of  her  cold  welcome,  the  child  is  not 

[74] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

reluctant  to  enter  on  a  more  brilliant  life  than  the  con- 
ventical  one.     At  any  rate,  she  did  not  shed  any  tears. 

"Charlotte  was  sent  upstairs  with  a  maid  to  make  her 
toilette  for  luncheon.  'Your  cousins  regret  not  being  here 
to  welcome  you,'  said  Martha  suavely,  'but  they  went  out 
to  the  country  place  of  a  friend  for  a  day's  skating. 
They  will  see  you  at  dinner.' 

"  'I  am  very  glad  they  did  not  change  their  plans  on  my 
account,'  said  my  little  nun  that  might  have  been. 

"Cornelius  came  home  for  luncheon  and  was  stiffer  than 
Martha.  He  was  self-conscious,  that  was  apparent.  We 
had  the  most  perfect  luncheon  imaginable,  but  though 
Martha  prides  herself  on  her  heating  arrangements  and 
their  temperatures  never  vary  a  degree,  I  felt  as  if  the  out- 
side air  had  crept  through  the  whole  house. 

"I  am  sorry  for  that  girl  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
Martha  hates  the  sight  of  her,  and  the  girl  knew  it  before 
she  had  been  twenty  minutes  in  the  house.  She  will  have 
food  and  dress  and  every  material  luxury  dealt  out  to  her 
as  lavishly  as  it  is  to  Martha's  own  girls ;  but  of  good-will, 
kindness,  human  affection,  not  a  drop.  Instead,  she  will 
receive  a  courtesy  measured  by  the  most  approved  social 
standards.  She  will  never  be  allowed  to  forget  for  one 
moment  that  it  is  given  from  a  high  sense  of  duty,  and  not 
from  any  sense  of  affection.  I  am  not  sure  that  Cornelius 
has  done  the  child  a  kindness.  She  might  have  fared  bet- 
ter in  a  boarding-school.  At  the  same  time,  I  have  a  great 
deal  of  sympathy  for  Martha.  I  should  n't  be  at  all  nice 
about  it,  you  know,  if  you  raked  up  a  dead  and  gone  sweet- 
heart's child  and  established  her  among  our  brood." 

[75] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

Within  a  few  weeks  after  the  writing  of  this 
epistle,  Mrs.  Spencer  expressed  herself  to  an  eld- 
erly relative  perched  in  a  very  old  colonial  home 
among  the  hills  of  Vermont. 

"Charlotte's  little  daughter  is  now  with  us.  She  is  a 
very  reserved  child  with  beautiful  manners  —  I  suppose 
convent  training  does  give  that  —  and,  her  teachers  think, 
has  an  exceptional  mind.  We  have  had  private  teachers 
for  her  this  year  because,  though  her  elementary  training 
is  fair,  she  is  greatly  lacking  in  general  information, 
though  she  has  a  curious  accumulation  of  Roman  Catholic 
religious  lore. 

"She  has  a  great  deal  of  personality  for  a  child  of  her 
age,  which  I  have  respected.  I  find  myself  constantly 
shrinking,  however,  from  some  undercurrent  of  feeling 
which  she  does  n't  express.  She  gets  on  very  well  with 
my  two  girls,  but  they  don't  understand  her  any  more 
than  I  do.  Of  course,  she  is  treated  exactly  as  they  are 
—  I  really  would  n't  get  one  a  hair  ribbon  without  buying 
its  match  for  Charlotte. 

"For  a  convent-reared  girl,  she  is  not  so  difficult  to  deal 
with  as  might  be.  I  send  her  to  church  every  Sunday  in 
the  brougham  with  the  parlor  maid,  who  happens  to  be  of 
her  faith ;  and  I  called  on  the  parish  priest  and  commended 
her  to  his  fatherly  mercies.  He  is  a  rather  robust  person, 
clearly  of  Irish  peasant  origin,  and  speaks  with  a  very  de- 
cided brogue.  She  is  plainly  growing  a  bit  fastidious 
about  him,  and  I  am  inclined  to  feel  that  she  is  none  too 

[76] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

deeply  enamored  of  her  church.  She  has  a  curious  gift  of 
worldhness  for  a  child  brought  up  in  a  convent." 

Eight  years  later  Mrs.  Spencer  penned  another 
brief  note  to  this  same  elderly  relative's  daughter. 

"I  suppose  it  would  be  asking  too  much  of  you  to  run 
down  to  Smith  and  see  Charlotte  take  her  degree.  I  can't 
go  —  Natalie's  engagement  is  just  on  —  and  somebody 
ought  to  appear  from  the  family.  She  takes  high  honors, 
I  understand.  She  wrote  me  a  very  pretty  little  note,  say- 
ing it  was  n't  to  be  expected  of  any  of  us  to  get  up,  but  I 
can  see  she  is  hurt.     Do  go  if  you  can." 

Six  weeks  later  in  that  same  year,  the  military 
lady  found  herself  at  a  very  quiet  and  exclusive  re- 
sort in  the  White  Mountains,  and  once  more 
delivered  herself  to  her  husband  of  many  im- 
pressions. 

"You  remember  that  incident  I  told  you  of  some  years 
ago  of  seeing  Charlotte  K's  daughter  engulfed  in  the 
Spencer  household.  Well,  they  are  all  here  for  a  brief 
stay,  Martha  engrossed  in  her  two  girls.  Natalie's  engage- 
ment to  young  X of  the  Navy  has  been  announced. 

Charlotte  Ponsonby  is  re&lly  a  magnificent  creature  — 
from  a  woman's  standpoint,  that  is.  But  the  outcome  of 
the  affair  is  just  what  might  have  been  expected.  Some- 
how they  have  mortally  wounded  her,  and  to  protect  her- 

[77] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

self  from  them  and  their  curiosity  she  has  built  a  wall 
between  herself  and  the  whole  world.  I  tried  to  cross  it, 
and  was  most  delicately  and  effectively  rebuffed.  She  is 
the  most  solitary  girl  I  have  ever  known,  and  yet  she  is  not 
morbid.  She  moves  among  us  in  the  most  self-possessed, 
unasking  spirit  that  was  ever  held  by  a  girl  of  twenty-two. 
She  is  remarkably  well  bred,  quite  at  ease  outwardly,  and  is 
altogether  too  clever  to  please  men  —  who  are  dreadfully 
shy  of  her,  though  they  speak  of  her  admiringly.  I  would 
not  have  you  think  that  her  cleverness  is  of  that  cheap 
type  which  sharpens  its  wits  on  others,  and  prides  itself  on 
its  brilliancy.  She  is  not  in  the  least  talkative,  but  she 
gives  you  the  feeling  of  one  who  is  weighing,  sifting,  an- 
alyzing, judging;  who  is  using  her  brain  to  its  best  pur- 
poses at  all  times. 

"The  pathetic  part  of  it  all  is  that  she  is  playing  up  to 
a  role  that  somebody  —  I  don't  know  what  idiot  —  as- 
signed her.  I  find  among  all  the  kindred  and  all  the  fam- 
ily acquaintance  the  general  opinion  that  Charlotte  has  no 
emotions,  nothing  but  a  brain ;  and  the  poor  child  is  noth- 
ing but  a  bundle  of  emotions  that  she  is  desperately  trying 
to  conceal.  I  understand  her  perfectly.  I  never  was  so 
sorry  for  anyone  in  my  life  —  anyone  in  our  condition, 
that  is.  She  has  been  tagged  a  girl  of  brains,  and  it  has 
somehow  been  impressed  upon  her  that,  if  she  shows  any 
feminine  weakness,  she  will  disgrace  herself.  So  there  she 
is,  on  her  intellectual  tiptoes,  striving  to  conceal  a  very  hu- 
man disposition  to  come  down  on  her  heels,  exiling  herself 
from  all  that  girlhood  prizes. 

"Of  course,  you  dear  old  goose,  you  are  saying  to  your- 

[78] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

self,  *Why  don't  you  put  her  wise,  then?'  My  dear,  she 
has  analyzed  it  all  just  as  clearly  as  I  have.  She  knows 
what  is  going  on.  She  merely  has  n't  the  courage  to  break 
through  the  convention  and,  on  the  whole,  I  don't  wonder 
at  it.  It  takes  more  courage  to  fight  the  accepted  con- 
ception of  oneself  than  it  does  to  do  any  other  sort  of 
fighting  in  the  world.  Charlotte  Ponsonby  is  a  victim  of 
the  Spencer  stupidity  and  of  her  own  timidity  and  sensi- 
tiveness. There  has  grown  up  an  impression  that  Char- 
lotte does  n't  care  for  dancing ;  and  night  after  night  she 
goes  off  to  her  room,  pretending  a  desire  to  read  when  her 
heart  is  in  her  toes,  where  a  normal  girl's  heart  should  be. 
If  there  is  an  expedition  of  any  sort,  Charlotte  is  always 
handed  over  to  some  elderly  fossil  because  she  is  so  intelli- 
gent and  serious,  and  so  entertaining  to  old  gentlemen. 
If  a  man  pays  her  the  least  attention,  everybody  notes  it 
(and  you  know  we  pride  ourselves  on  our  breeding  too)  ; 
and  so  much  interest,  sympathy,  and,  yes,  my  dear,  damn- 
able curiosity,  is  openly  shown  in  the  matter  that  the 
girl's  pride  is  outraged,  and  in  sheer  self-defence  she  snubs 
her  admirer  incontinently. 

"She  lives  and  has  always  lived,  as  nearly  as  I  can  see, 
utterly  without  intimate  companionship,  confidence,  or  any 
of  that  wholesome  dependence  that  belongs  to  girlhood. 
There  is  something  infinitely  pathetic  in  her  isolation, 
which,  much  as  I  should  like  to,  I  dare  not  invade.  There 
is  a  pride  in  life  born  of  indigence  as  there  is  the  pride  of 
wealth.  Charlotte  Ponsonby  is  armored  in  the  pride  born 
of  spiritual  indigence.  Her  soul  is  hungering  and  thirst- 
ing for  that  thing  for  which  all  the  world  has  decided  she 

[79] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

cares  nothing.     Mark  my  words,  my  dear,  in  the  end, 
tragedy  will  come  of  it." 

It  was  at  the  close  of  their  stay  in  the  mountains 
that  Mrs.  Spencer  again  unburdened  herself  to  the 
Vermont  relative. 

"What  do  you  think  Charlotte  is  now  bent  on?  She 
wants  to  be  a  trained  nurse.  I  have  felt  for  a  long  time 
that  she  had  something  revolutionary  in  her  mind.  It 
does  n't  matter  to  me  particularly,  but  Cornelius  is  grieved 
to  the  heart.  However,  we  have  no  right  to  coerce  her, 
and  financial  independence  seems  to  be  the  one  thing  on 
which  her  mind  is  fixed." 

Three  years  later  she  wrote  again : 

"Charlotte  has  finished  her  training  and  is  going  to  the 
Philippines.  She  came  in  from  New  York  last  week  to 
break  the  news.  I  said  little,  and  Cornelius  said  less.  But 
we  have  talked  it  over,  and  have  decided  that  she  must 
judge  for  herself.  I  don't  feel  satisfied  with  the  results  of 
our  care  for  Charlotte,  and  I  don't  know  where  the  blame 
lies,  but  I  do  feel  that  she  cherishes  some  bitterness  of  feel- 
ing in  her  heart,  and  that  she  is  very  unhappy. 

"Something  in  her  nature  wears  clearer  as  she  grows 
older,  some  ingrained  romanticism  which  we  did  not  sus- 
pect, and  which  repels  me.  However,  it  is  too  late  to 
worry  about  now.  She  has  taken  her  life  into  her  own 
hands,  and  has  decreed  that  it  shall  lie  apart  from  ours; 
and  I,  for  one,  am  thankful." 

[80] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

To  these  may  be  added  a  final  word  from  Miss 
Ponsonby  herself,  written,  on  her  wedding  eve  after 
her  return  from  the  Luneta. 

"My  dear  Aunt  : 

"This  is  the  last  letter  I  shall  write  you  for  some  time, 
for  to-morrow  I  am  going  to  be  married,  and  shall  leave 
Manila  for  a  remote  island  where  the  opportunity  for  cor- 
respondence is  small. 

"The  man  I  am  going  to  marry,  whose  name  is  Martin 
Collingwood,  is  engaged  in  pearl-fishing  in  the  seas  south 
of  Manila.  He  is  a  man,  I  believe,  with  the  money-making 
gift.  However  that  is  not  the  reason  that  I  am  marrying 
him.  With  me  it  is  absolutely  a  matter  of  the  heart.  I 
am  marrying  him  because,  as  nearly  as  I  can  see,  he  is  the 
one  human  being  who  has  ever  loved  me  in  this  world,  and 
because  I  cannot  live  Hfe  without  love. 

"It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  I  am  sacrificing  my 
ambitions  in  this  matter.  To  a  woman  brought  up  as  I 
have  been,  a  dependent,  a  brilliant  marriage  would  repre- 
sent the  most  successful  thing,  the  most  nearly  compen- 
sating thing,  that  life  could  offer.  It  has  not  come  to  me, 
however,  and  I  am  making  the  best  I  can  of  what  has  of- 
fered. 

"You  may  wonder  why  this  frankness  at  the  end  of  the 
silence  which  has  always  existed  between  us.  It  is  because 
my  only  hope  in  the  future  is  based  on  the  fact  that,  at  last, 
I  have  courage  to  declare  myself.  To  guard  my  every 
thought  and  feeling  from  your  curiosity  and  criticism,  I 
have  separated  myself  from  all  the  world,  and  in  the  be- 

6  [81] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

ginning  unknowingly,  but  in  the  end  with  full  knowledge, 
have  walked  down  a  path  which  has  ended  here.  I  will  not 
hamper  myself  in  my  new  life  by  even  the  memory  of  my 
old  cowardice.  You  may  call  me  weak,  call  me  senti- 
mental, foolish,  romantic,  call  me  all  the  things  which  for 
years  you  have  been  trying  to  discover  in  me,  and  for  which 
you  have  sought  in  vain  beneath  the  mask  I  wore  —  I  am 
going  to  have  my  share  of  living. 

"This  is  not  written  in  bitterness  toward  you.  I  am 
grateful  for  all  the  care  and  the  money  lavished  upon  me, 
and  I  realize  fully  the  sacrifice  that  you  made  in  receiving 
me  into  your  home  and  in  treating  me,  as  you  did,  with 
perfect  justice.  It  was  magnificent.  I  am  simply  one  of 
those  miserable  beings  who  have  come  into  this  world  un- 
welcome, born  to  be  a  worry  and  a  trial  to  someone,  and  I 
have  taken  the  only  means  I  knew  to  escape  from  it. 

"Tell  Uncle  Cornelius  that  I  am  not  ungrateful  to  him. 
Some  day  I  '11  write  you  again.  For  the  present  I  want 
to  put  every  memory  of  the  past  out  of  my  life.  If  the 
day  ever  comes  when  I  can  go  back  to  it  without  its  in- 
fluencing my  life  as  it  has  always  done,  I  '11  write  again. 
"Yours  gratefully, 

"Chaelotte  Ponsonby." 


[82] 


CHAPTER  V 

JUDGE  BARTON  had  to  cut  short  his  morn- 
ing ride  in  order  to  reach  the  San  Sebastian 
church  at  seven-thirty,  but  he  admitted  to 
himself  that  he  would  have  gone  without  his  daily- 
exercise  rather  than  have  missed  the  wedding;  and 
he  was  actually  ten  minutes  early.  He  found  the 
edifice  empty  but  pervaded  with  a  general  stir 
which  hinted  at  impending  events.  A  dirty,  bare- 
footed sacristan  in  marine  blue  cotton  drawers  and 
a  transparent  shirt  was  opening  windows  and  light- 
ing a  few  candles  about  the  high  altar.  The  early 
morning  sunlight  streamed  through  the  apertures, 
while  the  noise  of  street  traffic  outside  echoed  hol- 
lowly through  the  dusty,  empty  silence  of  the 
church.  Sparrows  flashed  across  the  moted  sun- 
beams and  lost  themselves  among  the  violet  and 
orange  shadows  of  the  lantern.  A  pobre  shuffled 
in  to  mutter  his  devotions,  and  a  widow  and  her 
two  daughters,  who  had  been  praying  before  one 

[83] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

of  the  chapel  altars,  lingered  to  discover  the  cause 
of  the  preparations. 

Soon  one  or  two  men  dropped  in,  strangers  to 
the  Judge,  and  friends,  as  he  instantly  decided,  of 
Collingwood.  They  stood  about  indecisively,  and 
stared  up  into  the  vaulted  roof,  and  whispered  to 
one  another  in  funereally  regulated  tones.  Then 
came  a  group  of  five  or  six  women,  whom  the  Judge 
recognized  as  fellow-nurses  of  Miss  Ponsonby ;  and 
almost  immediately  afterwards,  without  ceremo- 
nial or  welcome  of  the  organ,  the  bride  and  groom 
appeared.  Both  were  in  white;  he  in  the  miUtary- 
cut  blouse  which  is  so  popular  in  the  Philippines, 
she  in  a  simple  street  dress  of  white  muslin  with  a 
hat  of  white  embroidery.  The  marine  sacristan 
went  to  summon  the  priest,  while  the  bridal  pair 
waited  quietly  in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  Gothic 
pillars. 

When  the  priest,  a  Spaniard  of  ascetic  and  noble 
countenance,  had  arrived  and  was  embarked  upon 
the  marriage  ceremony.  Judge  Barton  took  him- 
self to  task  for  the  flutter  of  nervousness  which, 
to  his  great  discomfiture,  he  found  obtruding  into 
his  judicial  reflections.     He  had  come  to  satisfy  a 

[84] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

very  natural  curiosity,  and  the  affair  had  taken  his 
sympathies  unaware.  He  had  never  before  at- 
tended a  wedding  in  which  the  seriousness  of  mat- 
rimonial experiment  appealed  to  him  so  strongly. 
He  never  before  had  felt  the  solemn  happiness 
which  his  sympathy  with  that  bride  and  groom 
awoke  in  him.  He  stole  a  glance  at  the  other  wit- 
nesses; they  were  as  preternaturally  grave  as  he. 
There  was  even  a  subdued  air  about  CoUingwood, 
full,  however,  of  reserved  triumph.  As  for  the 
bride,  her  pallor  and  fatigue  were  quite  evident,  but 
she  had  an  uplifted  look  which  was  most  attractive. 
He  caught  himself  wondering  if  there  would  be 
any  kissing  the  bride,  and  then  he  decided  it  was 
time  to  rein  in  his  imagination.  "Emotions  by  the 
quart!"  he  thought  to  himself.  "Have  I  turned 
sentimental  old  woman?  Champagne  wouldn't 
make  me  more  maudUn." 

He  waited  quite  discreetly  after  the  ceremony, 
till  the  young  men  and  the  group  of  nurses  had  had 
their  say,  and  it  had  been  clearly  demonstrated  that 
there  would  be  no  kissing.  Then  he  went  up  and 
offered  Mrs.  CoUingwood  his  hand.  There  was  a 
genuine  friendliness  in  his  manner,  a  warmth  and 

[85] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

sincerity  in  his  few  words  that  touched  her.  Her 
own  reserve  melted  before  them.  He  saw  her  eyes 
suffuse,  and  a  faint  color  glow  in  her  cheek. 

She  was  instantly  aware,  indeed,  that  she  occupied 
a  new  plane  in  his  thoughts.  She  had  gained  upon 
him  personally,  and,  as  the  wife  of  a  man  engaged 
in  developing  one  of  the  greatest  resources  of  the 
islands,  and  likely  to  become  a  factor  of  local  com- 
mercial life,  she  would  receive  consideration.  She 
knew  that  he  regarded  her  marriage  as  a  mesal- 
liance, yet  by  making  a  mesalliance  she  had  become 
a  person  to  be  taken  into  account.  Stranger  situ- 
ations than  this  happen  frequently  in  the  world  — 
in  the  governmental  world  —  and  Mrs.  CoUing- 
wood  did  not  betray  her  intuitions. 

"Well,  Judge,"  said  Martin  jocosely,  "the 
Bureau  of  Health  did  not  bear  down  on  us  after 
all." 

"No;  you  are  a  Benedict,  CoUingwood,  and 
'whom  the  Lord  hath  joined' — I  don't  know 
whether  it  is  in  your  service  or  not.  My  Latin  is 
rusty." 

"  *Let  no  man,  not  even  a  Civil  Commissioner, 
put  asunder,' "  CoUingwood  finished  for  liim. 
The  Judge  suspected  that  he  felt  some  relief  in 

[86] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

having  the  possibility  of  a  change  of  mind  on  his 
bride's  part  obviated,  and  the  two  men  smiled  at 
each  other  openly. 

"I  feel  that  my  troubles  are  ended,"  said  CoUing- 
wood. 

His  wife  betrayed  that  she  was  still  somewhat 
self-conscious.  *'It  remains  for  Judge  Barton  to 
be  trite  and  to  warn  you  that  they  have  just  be- 
gun," she  said,  a  little  stiltedly. 

"Nonsense!  What  does  it  matter  whether  your 
troubles  are  beginning  or  ending?  The  point  is 
that  you  have  your  present,  your  romance.  I  dare 
say  you  will  have  your  troubles  —  most  of  us  do ; 
but  to-day — "     The  speaker  paused  expressively. 

"That  is  an  extremely  sensible  view,"  replied 
Mrs.  Collingwood.  "He  has  not  your  happy  gift 
of  expression,  but  it  is  Mr.  ColHngwood's  also. 
He  told  me  as  much  yesterday.  I  had  been  foolish 
enough  to  anticipate  the  future." 

"Is  that  what  made  you  look  so  solemn?"  the 
Judge  inquired  playfully. 

She  blushed  a  little  and  shook  her  head  reprov- 
ingly. "It  is  no  joking  matter.  Try  it  yourself 
and  see  how  you  feel.     Why,  even  Martin  looked 


serious." 


[87] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Frankly,  I  was  scared  to  death,"  ColUngwood 
admitted.  His  wife  laughed  softly.  The  Judge 
shook  hands  again  with  the  newly  made  husband  in 
an  access  of  geniality. 

He  declined  an  invitation  to  the  hotel  break- 
fast which  was  all  they  could  offer  in  the  line  of 
wedding  festivity,  but  he  found  time  later  to  ap- 
pear aboard  their  boat. 

"Mind,"  he  said  as  he  wished  Mrs.  Collingwood 
good-by,  "you  have  not  seen  the  last  of  me.  I  am 
going  to  appear  in  your  island  paradise  sometime 
when  you  least  expect  me.  When  things  get  un- 
endurable here,  I  shall  flee  to  you  and  solitude." 

"How  long  do  you  think  you  would  endure  it?" 
she  inquired. 

"How  long  will  you?" 

"Ah!  I  must.  I'm  pledged.  I  shall  have  no 
excuse  for  repining.  I  took  the  step  with  my  eyes 
open." 

"Well,  I  fancy  you  do  not  regret  leaving  Ma- 
nila." In  the  wholeness  of  his  suddenly  acquired 
sympathy  with  her,  the  Judge  quite  forgot  that  he 
had  been  one  of  the  many  persons  contributing  to 
the  experience  which  had  failed  to  endear  Manila 
to  her. 

[88] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"No;  my  experiences  here  have  not  been  alto- 
gether happy,  but  perhaps  I  was  partially  to 
blame."  She  hesitated  and  looked  over  at  the  shin- 
ing roofs,  at  the  patches  of  green  shrubbery  rehev- 
ing  them,  and,  in  the  background,  at  the  mountains 
where  Lawton  died.  The  launch  whistled  for  its 
passengers  before  Judge  Barton  could  reply,  but 
he  wrung  her  hand  with  the  intensity  of  a  lifelong 
friendship.  And  such  is  the  perversity  of  the  hu- 
man soul  that  his  heart  ached  as  the  launch  darted 
up  the  Pasig.  She  had  waited  upon  him  with  in- 
finite patience  and  gentleness  through  nearly  a 
month  of  illness.  He  had  seen  her  daily.  She  had 
been  so  situated  that  the  faintest  effort  of  real  kind- 
ness or  of  chivalry  on  his  part  could  have  won  her 
everlasting  gratitude,  and  probably,  if  he  had  de- 
sired it,  her  affection.  He  certainly  fulfilled  the 
ideal  which  her  social  traditions  demanded  of  her 
husband  more  nearly  than  Collingwood  did,  and 
the  Judge  knew  how  to  make  himself  liked  when 
he  wanted  to.  But  he  had  not  tried  to  be  kind  to 
Miss  Ponsonby.  He  had  been  patronizing,  and  at 
times  almost  impertinent  and  unmanly.  He  had 
not  a  shadow  of  right  to  the  grudging  sense  of 
having  something  that  should  have  been  his  snatched 

[89] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

away  from  him.  He  had  even  a  feeling  of  im- 
patience with  her,  a  thought  that  she  had  cheated 
him,  that  she  had  chosen  to  hide  her  real  self  from 
him,  and  to  reveal  it  cruelly  at  the  moment  when 
Fate  put  an  insurmountable  barrier  between  them. 
He  could  not  stifle  the  miserable  regrets,  the  sense 
of  baffled  yearning,  that  took  possession  of  him. 
He  did  his  best  to  shake  off  the  memory  of  the 
wedding  and  of  her  face  as  he  had  seen  it  at  the 
altar,  but  he  could  not  do  so.  Mrs.  CoUingwood 
became  an  obsession.  Before  the  coastguard  cutter 
had  pulled  its  anchor,  he  was  wondering  how  soon 
and  by  what  means  he  could  invent  an  excuse  for 
visiting  her  at  her  home. 

The  coastguard  steamer  on  the  Puerta  Princesa 
run,  on  which  the  CoUingwoods  had  elected  to  go 
as  far  as  Cuyo  where  their  own  launch  would  pick 
them  up,  drove  a  clean  white  furrow,  and,  as  Col- 
lingwood  had  predicted,  passed  Corregidor  at 
noon.  She  went  out  through  the  Boca  Chica  with 
Corregidor  on  the  left ;  and  Mrs.  Collingwood,  who 
was  resting  in  her  steamer  chair,  smiled  languidly 
as  he  glanced  back  at  the  island.  "Corregidor  over 
the  stern,"  she  murmured  as  if  repeating  some  well- 
worn  quotation,  and  then  went  on,  **Have  your  ex- 

[90] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

periences  here  led  you  into  contact  with  a  type  of 
man  who  has  but  one  iterated  and  reiterated  wish, 
—  he  is,  by  the  way,  usually  a  major  in  the  United 
States  army, —  which  wish  is  'to  see  Corregidor  over 
the  stern'?  I  do  not  know  how  many  times  my 
tongue  has  burned  to  suggest  that  the  wisher  take  a 
coasting  steamer  and  see  it." 

"Oh,  the  army's  sore  on  the  Philippines,"  re- 
marked Collingwood. 

She  eyed  him  reflectively.  "And  you,  who  have 
been  in  it,  seem  to  be  *sore'  on  the  army." 

"That 's  right,"  he  exclaimed  heartily.  "Any 
man  who  has  once  served  his  country  as  a  high 
private  and  has  gotten  out  is  *agin  the  Govern- 
ment' for  the  rest  of  his  life.  I  came  over  on  the 
troop  deck  of  a  transport,  and  I  swore  I  'd  go  home 
on  a  liner  or  leave  my  bones  here." 

"Which  seems  likelier  to  be  attained?"  she  asked, 
smiling  idly. 

"Which  do  you  think  yourself?  You  've  linked 
your  fortunes  with  mine.  Why?"  he  added  fixmg 
her  with  a  sudden  intensity  of  glance  insistent  for 
reply. 

His  wife  crimsoned  and  looked  across  the  glinting 
sea. 

[91] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"I  thought  you  answered  that  question  to  your 
satisfaction  last  night,"  she  murmured, 

"No;  I  tried  to  answer  it  for  you.  It  was  you 
that  needed  convincing.  Here  is  a  case  of  tem- 
perament," he  went  on,  half  jocose,  half  serious. 
"So  long  as  you  hesitated  and  I  had  my  side  to  urge, 
any  old  reason  would  do  for  me.  I  would  clutch 
at  a  straw  and  hold  on  to  it  as  if  it  were  a  cable. 
But  now  everything  is  settled  and  final,  I  want  to 
understand.  I  want  you  to  make  yourself  clear 
to  me." 

"But,  my  dear  Martini  The  idea  is  out  of  the 
question.  Why,  for  a  month  you  have  professed 
to  be  able  to  make  me  clear  to  myself." 

Martin  ruffled  his  hair  with  a  puzzled  hand. 
"Did  I?"  he  murmured.  "Did  it  strike  you  as 
cheeky?" 

"No ;  I  was  heartily  grateful.    You  helped  me." 

"In  what  way?" 

"In  the  way  of  conunon  sense,"  Charlotte  said, 
as  simply  as  if  the  remark  were  an  everyday  one, 
and  her  husband's  somewhat  startled  acceptance 
of  the  reply  sent  her  into  a  ripple  of  laughter,  in 
which,  after  an  instant,  he  joined  heartily. 

Their  merriment  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
[92] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

only  other  passengers,  two  enlisted  men  going  out 
to  join  a  hospital  corps  at  Puerta  Princesa.  It 
also  drew  upon  them  a  frown  of  disfavor  from  the 
captain. 

The  captain  was  an  old-time  skipper  from  a 
tramp  freighter,  with  the  freighter's  contempt  for 
passengers.  He  was  not  married,  and  he  had  little 
sympathy  with  the  billings  and  cooings  of  newly 
married  couples.  As  often  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the 
orchids  and  ferns  and  potted  plants  which  were 
hanging  from  stanchions  and  cumbering  his  decks 
(Mrs.  Collingwood  was  taking  them  down  for  the 
adornment  of  her  new  home)  he  cursed  pictur- 
esquely. To  his  second  officer  he  had  expressed  a  de- 
sire for  a  typhoon  that  would  roll  the  deadlights 
out  of  his  boat,  and  blow  the  hyphenated  "garden 
truck"  into  the  Sulu  Sea.  He  had  emphasized  his 
distaste  for  bridal  society  by  setting  a  table  for 
himself  and  his  officers  on  the  forward  deck  be- 
hind the  steering  apparatus,  thus  leaving  the  tiny 
dining-room  entirely  to  the  despised  passen- 
gers. 

Yet  there  had  been  little  enough  sentimentality 
exhibited  to  arouse  his  displeasure.  Mrs.  Colling- 
wood spent  her  day  in  the  steamer  chair  while  her 

[93] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

husband  walked  the  deck  with  his  cigar  or  sat  chat- 
ting at  her  side.  The  hospital  men,  covertly  watch- 
ing them  as  everybody  does  a  bridal  pair,  opined 
that  they  were  a  "queer  proposition,"  but  quite 
agreed  that  they  seemed  happy. 

To  Colhngwood,  the  change  in  Charlotte's  mood 
was  an  intense  relief.  The  hesitations  and  self- 
questionings  with  which  she  had  puzzled  him  for  a 
month  previous  had  apparently  been  quieted  by 
the  finality  of  the  marriage  ceremony.  That  she 
was  nervously  worn  out  by  the  strain  of  the  pre- 
vious weeks  and  by  the  disagreeable  circumstances 
of  her  quarrel  with  the  Government  he  reahzed; 
and  with  a  delicacy  for  which  she  was  thoroughly 
grateful,  he  refrained  from  the  rather  ardent  dem- 
onstrations of  his  courtship,  and  treated  her  with 
matter-of-fact  kindness  and  good  fellowship. 
She  was  his,  and  she  seemed  contented  and  at  peace. 
It  was  a  glorious  summer  day,  the  sea  was  wave- 
less,  the  boat  was  clean  and  quiet,  and  might  almost 
have  been  their  private  yacht,  so  completely  were 
they  alone.  A  chance  observer  beholding  a  lazy 
young  woman  in  a  deck  chair  and  a  quiet  young  fel- 
low pacing  to  and  fro  near  her  might  have  taken 
them  for  a  young  married  couple  of  some  weeks'  or 

[94] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

months'   standing.     He  would   hardly  have   sus- 
pected a  bridal  couple. 

Yet  the  young  man's  mind,  as  they  steamed  past 
the  beautiful  wooded  heights  of  Mindoro,  and 
looked  up  and  up  at  the  giant  forests  or  out  over 
the  gleaming  water,  was  a  tumult  of  joy  and  tri- 
imiph  and  wonder  —  the  wonder  being  by  no  means 
in  the  smallest  proportion.  His  wife  was  not  a 
beautiful  woman,  but  his  lover's  eyes  endowed  her 
with  every  beauty  as  she  lay  scanning  the  tree-clad 
mountains.  That  fine  quahty  of  breeding  in  her 
which  Collingwood  was  unable  to  define,  but  which 
pleased  him  inordinately,  was  never  more  apparent. 
Moreover,  he  had  found  her  in  times  past  a  rather 
difficult  person  to  deal  with,  and  behold!  in  the 
Scriptural  "twinkling  of  an  eye,"  her  thorniness 
had  vanished  and  a  docility  as  agreeable  as  it  was 
unexpected  had  given  him  fresh  cause  for  self- 
gratulation. 

Still,  as  he  had  confessed,  his  temperament  inclined 
him  to  retroactive  investigation.  So  long  as  she 
proved  obdurate  and  was  not  yet  won,  Collingwood 
could  not  analyze.  But  with  the  struggle  past  he 
had  time  to  take  up  the  contradictions  of  her  at- 
titude, and  he  found  little  to  justify  his  bold  state- 

[95] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

ment  that  he  could  read  her  better  than  she  could 
read  herself.  If,  as  he  had  somewhat  daringly  re- 
minded her,  she  was  happy  in  his  arms,  it  was  a 
happiness,  as  he  could  not  but  realize,  of  less  ec- 
static measure  than  that  of  many  of  the  predecessors 
who,  with  or  without  the  sanction  of  an  engage- 
ment, had  yielded  to  their  pressure.  She  was  a 
novice  at  love-making,  as  a  man  less  experienced 
than  her  husband  would  easily  have  guessed;  and 
she  was  reticent,  not  only  in  the  voluntary  expres- 
sion of  that  fact,  but  in  response  to  his  tentative 
overtures  to  her  to  confess  it.  CoUingwood  was 
no  less  puzzled  by  the  fact  than  by  the  philosophy 
of  life  which  desired  its  concealment.  He  had 
known  many  young  women  in  his  life  who  were 
not  novices  at  love-making,  but  who  ardently  de- 
sired to  be  thought  so. 

An  ironical  sense  of  his  wife's  power  to  bafHe 
him  tempered  more  than  one  of  the  affectionate 
glances  he  cast  upon  her  as  he  strolled  back  and 
forth  beside  her  chair.  The  consciousness  of  her 
mental  superiority,  of  her  obedience  to  perceptions 
and  convictions  which  were  only  half  formulated 
in  his  own  mind,  was  literally  seeping  through  Col- 
lingwood's  brain.     He  was  inordinately  proud  of 

[96] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

her.  Her  excellence  was  a  proof  of  his  own  good 
taste.  He  felt  that  she  was  a  credit  to  him.  He 
did  not  associate  her  intelligence  and  her  grace  with 
a  class  distinction.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  one  of 
his  sources  of  joy  that  he  would  take  her  out  of  the 
masses  and  make  her  of  the  classes,  only  Martin 
did  not  use  those  terms.  In  his  simple  philosophy, 
people  with  money  were  important,  and  people 
without  it  were  not.  Miss  Ponsonby  had  been 
poor.  She  had  earned  her  own  living.  Ergo,  she 
was  nobody.  But  he,  Martin  Collingwood,  would 
make  her  somebody,  and  when  he  had  done  so,  she 
would  fill  the  position  to  his  entire  satisfaction. 
He  did  not  ask  himself  if  he  would  come  up  to  her 
expectations.  He  did  not  understand  that  a  woman 
can  ask  for  more  in  a  husband  than  for  a  lover,  a 
master,  and  a  provider  of  the  world's  goods.  In 
spite  of  his  public-school  education,  Martin  Col- 
lingwood's  philosophy  of  life  was  a  very  primitive 
one,  based  upon  a  sense  of  sex  superiority.  He 
could  realize  that  a  woman  can  be  a  man's  inferior ; 
but  he  supposed  that  the  mere  fact  of  his  sex  makes 
any  man  the  equal  of  the  proudest  woman  who 
lives. 

So  Collingwood  continued  to  walk  the  deck  in  a 
7  [  97  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

tooYs  paradise,  and  his  wife  lounged  away  her  day, 
if  not  in  his  blissful  state  of  ignorance,  a  happy 
and  contented  woman,  nevertheless.  There  was  a 
soundness  in  that  primitive  philosophy  of  her  hus- 
band's which  she  was  proving.  If  Collingwood  did 
not  have  all  the  requisites  of  a  woman's  ideal  of  her 
husband,  he  had  at  least  three- fourths  of  them; 
and  Mrs.  Collingwood  was  enough  of  a  philosopher 
(little  as  she  liked  being  told  so)  not  to  cavil  at 
the  missing  quarter  when  they  were  hurrying  away 
from  the  conditions  that  made  that  quarter  vital. 

The  coastguard  steamer  skirted  the  coast  of  Min- 
doro  and  then  turned  her  nose  westward.  The  next 
day,  she  crept  up  under  the  pinnacled  heights  of 
Pefion  de  Coron  in  a  jade-green  sea,  and  entered 
the  channel  between  Coron  and  Bushuanga.  There 
the  water  was  like  purple  glass,  save  where  a  rush 
of  porpoises  parted  it  in  swift  pursuit  of  the  fly- 
ing-fish. Fairy  islets  dotted  its  dazzling  surface 
while  the  land  masses  on  either  hand  were  clothed 
in  amethystine  haze. 

The  boat  lay  half  a  day  off  the  curving  beach 
of  Culion,  and  the  travellers  stared  up  at  the  nipa 
houses  of  the  leper  colony,  clinging  to  the  hillsides, 

[98] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

and  at  the  gray  old  church  and  the  fort  on  the  left, 
speaking  of  the  day  when  Moro  paraos  were  no 
strangers  to  the  peaceful  locality.  On  the  third 
night,  it  anchored  in  Halsey  Harbor,  "which  is," 
said  CoUingwood,  "the  last  place  on  earth  except 
the  one  we  are  going  to  live  in." 

To  this  somewhat  discouraging  remark,  Mrs. 
CoUingwood,  who  was  leaning  over  the  rail,  staring 
into  darkness  and  the  massed  bulk  of  land  near, 
made  no  reply.  Immediately  after  the  dropping 
of  the  anchor,  the  captain,  accompanied  by  his 
third  officer  and  the  two  hospital  corps  men,  had 
gone  ashore  to  call  upon  the  single  American 
family  which  was  holding  Halsey  Harbor.  He 
did  not  invite  the  CoUingwoods  to  go,  glad  ap- 
parently to  be  out  of  their  sight  for  a  time.  They 
laughed  at  their  power  to  arouse  his  distaste,  and 
agreed  that  they  were  the  gainers  by  his  dislike. 
The  fiery  cigar  tip  of  the  officer  on  watch  was  the 
only  reminder  that  the  boat  was  not  wholly  in  their 
hands. 

CoUingwood,  throwing  away  his  cigar,  slipped 
an  arm  around  his  wife,  who  never  objected  to 
petting. 

[99] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"It's  wonderful,"  she  said  dreamily;  "I  never 
knew  before  that  tree  toads  made  silence.  I 
thought  they  made  noise." 

The  night  was  one  of  those  cloudy  ones  which 
occur  so  frequently  in  the  tropics,  when  the  vapors 
hang  low  at  dusk,  to  dissipate  later.  The  boat 
seemed  to  be  at  anchor  in  a  bay  shut  in  by  low  hills, 
for,  at  one  point,  a  rift  in  the  clouds  showed  the 
pallor  of  the  sky  and  a  single  star,  below  which  the 
solid  blackness  loomed  in  relief,  and  against  which 
a  clump  of  bamboo  teased  the  eye  with  its  phantom 
outline.  A  faint  chorus  of  insects  and  tree  toads 
and  the  insistent  cry  of  an  iku  lizard  suggested  that 
the  boat  must  be  fairly  close  to  the  shore,  but,  as 
Mrs.  Collingwood  had  said,  the  soimds  only  empha- 
sized the  stillness.  Low  down  in  the  gloom  —  so 
low  as  to  suggest  a  valley  between  the  hills  —  a 
light  burned  steadily  with  a  sweet  and  human  sig- 
nificance in  the  tremendous  vaguenesses  about  them. 

There  was  almost  trepidation  in  CoUingwood's 
inquiry  if  she  found  it  lonesome. 

"Not  in  the  least.  Or  rather,  I  find  it  tremen- 
dously lonely,  and  enjoy  it.  Are  you  worrying 
about  me  when  it  is  too  late  ?  Do  not  do  so.  I  shall 
find  plenty  to  occupy  me  on  the  island." 

[100] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"For  a  woman  who  held  hack  as  persistently  as 
you  did,  you  have  experienced  a  wonderful  change 
of  heart." 

"Did  you  think  I  was  afraid  of  loneliness?" 

"Lord !  I  did  n't  know  what  you  were  afraid  of, 
but  I  could  see  you  were  afraid  of  something.  I 
had  to  take  it  into  consideration.  It  was  one  of 
a  lot  of  things  working  against  me  which  I  had  to 
combat." 

There  came  a  long,  long  pause.  Eight  bells 
sounded.  The  second  engineer  came  out  on  the 
lower  deck  and  cursed  some  of  the  Filipino  crew 
who  had  stretched  themselves  for  a  night's  rest  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  block  the  passage-way. 

**Well,"  insisted  Collingwood,  "am  I  a  good 
guesser  or  not?" 

"About  the  island?  No,  dear.  My  imagination 
took  hold  of  that  at  once.  The  thought  of  living 
on  a  practically  uninhabited  island  stirred  up  all 
the  romance  there  is  in  me." 

"What  was  it,  then?  Come,  we  're  married. 
Out  with  it!" 

"You  told  me  yourself  in  so  many  words  that 
I  was  coquetting  with  myself." 

"I  never  said  anything  like  that,"  declared  Mr. 
[101] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Collingwood  with  a  vivacity  inspired  by  a  premoni- 
tion of  the  resentment  she  might  feel.  But  Char- 
lotte only  laughed. 

"Those  were  your  exact  words,"  she  insisted. 
"They  were  quite  true." 

"That  was  not  all,"  he  persisted.  "It  was  more 
serious  than  that.  I  felt  something  mighty  heavy 
in  the  atmosphere  at  times." 

Mrs.  Collingwood  reflected  a  few  minutes. 
"Don't  you  think,"  she  said  then,  "that  any  woman 
of  mature  age  —  of  my  age  —  would  hesitate  to 
marry  a  man  of  whose  family  and  antecedents  she 
knew  as  little  as  I  did  of  yours?'' 

"No :  I  don't  see  what  my  family  had  to  do  with 
it.  In  the  first  place  I  have  n't  any  near  relatives 
living  now,  as  I  told  you ;  and  if  I  had,  you  would  n't 
have  married  them.  You  have  married  me.  As 
for  my  antecedents  (I  suppose  you  mean  my  con- 
duct), I  told  you  myself  that  I  had  been  no  saint. 
I  'm  just  a  good  average  citizen.  I  've  known  bet- 
ter men  than  I  am,  and  I  have  known  worse.  I 
have  not  been  married  before ;  that 's  the  main 
thing,  after  all;  and  no  woman  ever  had  cause 
for  a  breach-of-promise  suit  against  me.     I  had 

"  (he  named  a  man  locally  prominent)  "write 

[102] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

to  you  and  tell  you  that  he  came  from  the  same 
town  with  me,  and  he  knew  my  record  was  what  I 
had  told  you.  Besides,  I  did  n't  give  a  thought  to 
your  family,  and  you  have  talked  less  about  them 
than  I  have  talked  of  mine." 

"That  is  true.  Do  you  think  me  secretive  ?  There 
is  nothing  to  be  secretive  about.  But  my  life  with 
my  relatives  was  too  painful  to  talk  about,  even  to 

you." 

"I  saw  that.  I  guessed  it  must  have  been  hard 
to  anybody  so  loving  and  tender  as  you." 

"Martin,  when  did  you  form  the  impression  that 
I  am  loving  and  tender?" 

"Well,  ain't  you?" 

"I  think  so;  but  most  people  have  not  thought 
so,  you  know.  What  made  you  decide  differ- 
ently?" 

"Oh,  that  first  night  in  the  hospital  after  they 
had  fixed  me  up  in  the  operating  room,  and  the 
chloroform  wore  off,  and  my  fever  came  up. 
Godl  I  can  feel  it  all  now!  And  just  when  I 
thought  that  I  could  not  stand  things  any  longer, 
and  must  yell,  you  came  along  with  an  ice  bag 
and  gave  me  a  piece  to  suck."  His  wife  smiled  in 
the    darkness    at    his    homely    phraseology.     "It 

[  103  ] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

seemed  to  me  I  had  never  heard  a  woman's  voice  in 
my  life  as  soft  as  yours  was  when  you  said,  'You 
are  in  great  pain,  I  know.'  " 

"But  that  was  what  I  should  have  done  for  any- 
body, Martin." 

"I  knew  it.  That 's  why  I  felt  that  you  were 
gentle  and  loving.  I  would  have  liked  to  put  my 
arms  around  you  and  cry.  I  wanted  to  be  babied. 
It  is  strange,  is  n't  it,  how  physical  suffering  can 
unman  a  fellow?" 

Charlotte  turned  her  eyes  on  him  for  an  instant. 
He  could  just  see  their  gleam  by  the  reflection 
of  a  ray  streaming  out  on  the  water  from  a  light 
on  the  lower  deck,  and  they  were  infinitely  tender 
yet  mirthful.  "You  understand  yourself  thor- 
oughly," she  said.  "You  were  a  brave  baby  and 
a  good  baby  but  you  were  a  baby,  Martin,  a  great 
six-foot  baby." 

"Well,  if  it  made  you  fall  in  love  with  me  — 

"Ahl  but  I  didn't  then.  You  bullied  me  into 
being  in  love  with  you.  You  would  n't  give  me  a 
chance  to  make  myself  heard." 

"What  about  that  time  I  kissed  you?"  said  Mar- 
tin, referring  to  that  episode  for  the  first  time  since 
his  very  formal  and  abject  letter  of  apology  had 

[104] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

met  an  equally  formal  but  cold  forgiveness  from 
her. 

To  his  consternation,  she  drew  away  from  him  in 
sudden  displeasure.  "Perhaps  we  had  better  not 
speak  of  it." 

"Why  shouldn't  we  speak  of  it?  Is  it  a  crime 
for  a  man  to  kiss  a  woman  he  loves?  Did  it  con- 
taminate you?" 

"I  had  given  you  no  right,  no  encourage- 
ment." 

"I  'd  have  done  it  if  I  had  known  I  was  to  be 
kicked  out  of  the  hospital,  broken  ribs  and  all.  Be- 
sides, how  is  a  man  to  know  whether  he  has  any 
rights  till  he  exercises  them?" 

Martin  put  the  question  seriously  in  all  good 
faith.  It  was  his  primitive  philosophy  again,  the 
simple  way  in  which  he  tested  women  in  his  sphere 
of  hfe.  She  was  at  a  loss  how  to  reply,  and  some- 
what sore  put  to  hide  her  inexperience  in  affairs 
of  the  sort.  She  had  been  brought  up  to  believe 
that  milkmaids  kiss  their  young  men  over  the  gate, 
but  that,  in  refined  society,  men  offer  no  caresses 
to  girls  whom  they  respect,  unless  a  troth  has  first 
been  plighted.  Had  she  chummed  more  with  girls 
and  young  women,  she  might  have  learned  that 

[105] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

even  in  the  best  of  society,  young  people  pay  little 
heed  to  the  strong  statements  of  their  elders,  and 
that,  wise  heads  to  the  contrary,  young  blood 
will  have  its  toll.  But  Charlotte  had  had  no 
chums  and  had  never  exchanged  gossip  over  late 
bedroom  fires.  Her  views  on  the  propriety  of 
kissing  were  entirely  theoretical.  But  that  kiss  was 
a  sore  remembrance  with  her.  It  marked  the  be- 
ginning of  the  end.  It  was  an  opening  door  which 
gave  her  an  instant's  glance  into  the  kingdom  of 
love;  and  from  its  bestowal,  she  had  known  that 
she  was  confronted  with  a  mighty  temptation  to 
open  it  further  and  to  go  boldly  into  the  fair  land. 
How  hard  she  had  fought  with  the  inclination,  she 
could  never  tell  Martin  CoUingwood;  but  she  had 
fought,  and  she  had  lost. 

She  glanced  up  at  him  penitently  after  his  last 
speech,  and  marked  the  cessation  of  her  involuntary 
resentment  by  sUpping  back  into  his  arm.  He  was 
emboldened  to  make  a  query  which  had  been  on 
his  tongue  a  dozen  times,  but  which,  up  to  that 
hour,  not  even  the  proprietary  sense  of  the  husband 
had  enabled  him  to  regard  as  discreet. 

"Charlotte,  am  I  really  the  first  man  you  ever 
cared  about?" 

[106] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

"Absolutely  the  first  to  whom  I  ever  gave  a  senti- 
mental thought.'* 

The  delighted  recipient  of  this  compliment  did 
not,  in  the  joy  of  hearing  it,  examine  it  too  closely. 
When  he  did  begin  to  speak,  his  wife  was  pleased 
to  note  that  he  was  less  inclined  to  investigate  the 
cause  of  the  phenomenon  than  to  speculate  upon 
its  uncommonness. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  were  about,"  he  said. 
"It 's  mighty  good  luck  for  me,  but  —  not  in  an 
uncomplimentary  sense  —  you  must  have  been  an 
awful  goose." 

"That 's  it  exactly.  I  was  an  awful  goose;  and, 
being  so,  I  had  an  inspiration  to  keep  out  of  love." 

"Why  so?" 

"Because  I  was  afraid  of  being  in  love.  Can  you 
understand  that?  Because  love  was  altogether  as- 
sociated in  my  mind  with  pain  —  the  pain  of  los- 
ing, and  the  pain  of  loving  and  of  not  being  loved, 
and  of  being  generally  misunderstood." 

"And  all  that  because  you  were  raised  an  orphan. 
I  don't  think  you  had  a  fair  show,  old  girl." 

"I  know  I  had  not,"  said  Mrs.  Collingwood  de- 
cisively. She  added,  "But  I  had  rather  not  talk 
about  it.     It  makes  me  morbid." 

[  107  ] 


The  TiOcusts'  Years 

"Were  your  folks  well  to  do?" 

"They  were  people  of  considerable  wealth.  I  do 
not  think  they  ever  grudged  me  anything  I  cost 
them.  But  I  was  in  a  false  position  in  their  house, 
and  I  was  conscious  of  it.  The  knowledge  put 
me  at  a  disadvantage  with  all  the  world.  It  made 
me  feel  myself  different  from  everybody  else.  I 
was  self-conscious,  afraid  of  being  an  object  of  pity. 
It  was  like  failing  to  possess  some  essential  article 
of  dress  that  everybody  else  has,  and  trying  to  cover 
up  one's  nakedness." 

"That 's  it.  I  could  n't  put  it  into  words,  but 
that  is  exactly  how  you  acted  with  Barton.  You 
seemed  to  shrink  away  from  him  and  to  be  ready 
to  fight  him  if  he  spoke  pleasantly  to  you." 

"Oh,  dear!  was  it  so  bad  as  that?"  Charlotte's 
heart  sank.  Her  way  of  expressing  facts  differed 
considerably  from  his,  and  the  balance  of  vividness 
and  realism  was  in  his  favor. 

"It  was,  just  like  that.  But  you  were  not  that 
way  to  me.     Why  not?" 

Her  woman's  wit,  already  quickened  by  her  in- 
creased experience  with  men,  showed  her  how  to 
be  truthful,  and,  in  so  being,  how  to  deceive  him 
most.     "Ah!  you  were  different,"  she  murmured. 

[108] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

But  after  he  had  led  her,  in  response  to  her  re- 
quest, back  to  her  chair,  and  was  pacing  to  and 
fro  beside  her  in  quiet  happiness,  her  heart  re- 
proached her.  She  had  not  shrunk  from  him  be- 
cause she  knew  that  he  was  bhnd,  because,  to  carry 
out  her  simile,  he  could  perceive  nothing  lacking  in 
her  raiment.  But  those  keen  eyes  of  Judge  Bar- 
ton's had  questioned  her,  had  perceived  every  rag 
and  tatter! 

The  captain  returned  and  called  Martin  to  de- 
liver to  him  a  message  from  the  Inhabitant  of 
Halsey  Harbor.  Charlotte  was  left  alone  to  her 
musings. 

She  was  very  happy.  The  old  saying,  "Out  of 
sight,  out  of  mind"  was  proving  its  appositeness 
in  her  case.  No  one  was  about  her  who  could  read 
her,  who  could  perceive  the  absence  of  any  necessary 
raiment,  who  would  be  conscious  that  there  was  any- 
thing odd  in  her  being  Martin  Colhngwood's  wife. 
She  had,  in  one  decisive  action,  destroyed  all  that 
was  holding  her  spirit  in  leash.  A  woman  yet 
young,  whose  emotions  had  been  stifled  for  a  life- 
time, in  whom  the  warmth  of  love  had  been  over- 
laid by  the  calculating  egoism  of  a  nature  wounded 
to  the  quick,  she  had  emancipated  herself  at  the 

[109] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

fortuitous  moment,  alive  to  the  rapture  of 
passion,  of  freedom  from  all  the  restraints  that 
had  curbed  her  existence.  She  had  thrown  the 
admonitions  and  the  self-restraint  of  a  life-time 
aside  for  a  romance.  She  had  (but  fortunately 
for  a  time  she  was  able  to  put  the  fact  out  of 
mind)  quite  justified  a  conventional  assump- 
tion that  a  woman's  nature  is  full  of  primitive 
evil,  and  that  you  must  pitch  your  maxims  pretty 
strong  if  you  would  have  them  believed  at  all, 
and  that  then,  ten  to  one,  she  will  demolish  all 
your  precautions  at  a  bound  if  an  object  in 
trousers  holds  out  his  arms.  She  had  profited  by 
her  husband's  view.  "Come  what  may,"  she  said, 
"I  will  have  my  romance  and  pay  the  price  after- 
wards." 

So  far,  the  price  seemed  a  remote  contingency. 
With  every  revolution  of  the  steamer's  screw,  Ma- 
nila and  her  distant  relatives  whose  pride  she  had 
outraged  became  the  mere  phantoms  of  memory, 
growing  paler  every  hour.  Nothing  was  left  but 
the  delightful  sense  of  being  an  absolute  necessity 
to  Martin  —  she  who  had  been  a  superfluity  all  her 
life! 

As  for  CoUingwood  himself,  his  kindness,  his 
[110] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

shrewdness,  his  strength  were  gaining  constantly 
in  her  esteem.  He  had  proved  himself  innately  del- 
icate and  refined.  Of  what  possible  importance 
were  a  few  deficiences  in  speech,  a  too  vivid  phrase- 
ology, the  lack  of  the  little  courtesies  which  mark 
a  man  of  the  world?  But  (and  here  some  of  her 
elation  diminished)  if  they  mattered  so  httle,  why 
had  she  to  convince  herself  so  eagerly?  If  two 
negatives  make  an  affirmative,  too  passionate  a  de- 
nial sometimes  constitutes  an  assertion.  Whenever 
she  arrived  at  this  stage  of  reflection,  another  cloud 
dimmed  her  horizon.  Was  not  her  whole  attitude 
a  practical  deception  of  the  man  himself?  Would 
Martin  Colhngwood  have  accepted  her  surrender  so 
joyfully,  could  he  have  read  that  it  was  weighted 
with  the  condition  of  living  with  him  on  an  unin- 
habited island?  Would  not  all  his  self-esteem 
repudiate  such  a  proposition?  She  had  not  lied 
when  she  said  that  she  loved  him,  but  would  he  con- 
tent himself  with  a  definition  of  love  which  excluded 
all  natural  pride  of  choice,  and  put  a  compromise 
value  upon  himself?  As  often  as  she  found  her- 
self confronted  with  these  thoughts,  Charlotte  took 
refuge  in  a  bit  of  casuistry.  If  she  saw  Martin 
with  clear  eyes  and  underrated  the  proportional 

[111] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

value  of  his  attainments,  did  he  even  see  her  clearly 
at  all?  Did  she  wrong  him  more  in  reserving  an 
opinion  of  his  social  worth  than  he  wronged  her 
in  not  perceiving  that  she  had  any  social  worth? 
The  fact  that  every  person  has  a  real  personal  value 
and  an  accredited  worldly  value,  and  that  most  ef- 
fort is  directed  to  making  these  two  values  coincide, 
or  appear  to  do  so,  put  a  convenient  weapon  in  her 
hand.  Since,  in  only  a  few  cases,  the  two  values 
are  really  identical,  happy  marriages  must  be  the 
result  of  a  marvellous  luck  or  of  a  wonderful  power 
of  self-deception.  Was  she  to  be  taxed  for  not 
deceiving  herself?  Was  her  intelligence  to  be 
pimished  when  his  ignorance  was  rewarded?  As 
often  as  she  thought  about  it,  it  seemed  that  his 
incapacity  to  value  certain  qualities  of  her  own 
justified  her  in  a  few  mental  reservations. 

Nevertheless  she  was  afflicted  with  a  sense  of 
penitence  in  spite  of  her  sophistry,  and  when,  after 
a  long  conversation  with  the  captain,  her  husband 
came  back  to  her  and  bent  over  her,  she  put  up  her 
arms  and  drew  his  face  down  to  hers,  giving  him  the 
first  voluntary  caress  which  she  had  bestowed  upon 
him  since  the  hour  of  her  surrender  upon  the  Luneta. 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Have  you  thought  me  a  selfish,  ungrateful 
wretch?"  she  asked  him. 

"Never!  But  I  have  worried  a  little.  There  's 
no  getting  around  it  —  you  are  daffy  about  some 
things,  Charlotte." 

"Daffy  is  such  a  beautiful  word.  It 's  so  civil. 
I  '11  adopt  it.  You  are  not  daffy  about  anything 
but  me,  are  you,  Martin?" 

"Kingsnorth  says  I  'm  daffy  about  anything  that 
I  really  like." 

"Tell  me  about  Mr.  Kingsnorth  —  all  about  him. 
Analyze  him  for  me." 

"I  can't  do  that  sort  of  thing.  Besides,  I  want 
you  to  form  your  own  impressions.  You  will  see 
him  in  thirty-six  hours." 

"So  soon  as  that."  She  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
fell  silent. 

"The  captain  says  he  is  going  out  at  dawn.  We 
ought  to  make  Cuyo  by  five  to-morrow  afternoon, 
and  if  Mac  's  there  with  the  launch,  as  he  surely 
will  be,  we  '11  get  our  freight  transhipped  and  make 
the  run  over  to-morrow  night.  That  will  bring  us 
home  by  dawn  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Home," 
he  repeated  softly.  "I  've  dreamed  many  dreams 
8  [113] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

in  my  life  and  some  of  them  have  come  true,  but 
I  don't  think  anything  stranger  could  have  hap- 
pened to  me  than  taking  my  wife  home  to  an  un- 
inhabited island  in  the  Pacific." 

"Nothing  stranger  could  have  happened  to  you 
than  finding  yourself  married  at  all.  Isn't  that 
it?" 

"It 's  a  fact,"  he  admitted  slowly.  "I  was  not 
planning  to  marry  for  many  a  year.  I  don't  know 
that  I  thought  seriously  about  doing  it  at  all.  In 
fact,  I  was  so  afraid  that  I  might  be  injudicious 
and  get  married  —  or  get  myself  married — "  he 
smiled  in  the  darkness  — "that  I  swore  off  even  on 
flirtations  some  time  before  I  came  out  here.  But 
when  you  came  along  with  the  ice-bag  and  your 
nice  voice,  and  I  got  a  good  look  at  you  next  day, 
all  that  went  up  in  the  air.  I  knew  then  and  there 
that  I  wanted  to  get  married  as  quick  as  I  could. 
I  'd  been  in  love  before  a  half  dozen  times,  but  I 
knew  every  time  that  it  was  n't  a  love  I  wanted  to 
marry  on.  It  don't  matter  how  much  a  man  loves 
a  woman,  he  don't  love  her  in  the  right  way  unless 
she  does  him  credit.  I  felt  that  way  about  you. 
You  were  the  kind  of  woman  I  could  be  proud  of 
all  my  life.     'That 's  the  girl  for  me,'  I  said,  and 

[114] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

sure  enough — "  his  pause  expressed  the  idea  that 
the  outcome  had  been  foreordained. 

His  desire  to  compHment  her  was  so  unmistak- 
able, his  admiration  was  so  sincere,  that  Charlotte 
was  able  to  stifle  quickly  the  first  instinct  to  re- 
buke his  unconscious  patronage.  His  egoism,  after 
all,  was  of  an  inoiFensive  variety.  He  was  not 
boasting  himself  as  a  connoisseur,  but  was  testify- 
ing to  the  completeness  with  which  she  satisfied  his 
ideal.  The  wife  lay  silent  for  a  long  time,  study- 
ing his  face,  which  was  just  dimly  visible  in  the 
glow  of  his  cigar.  When  she  spoke,  it  was  as  she 
rose  from  her  chair. 

"I  hope  I  '11  always  be  able  to  live  up  to  your 
conception  of  me,"  she  said.     "I  mean  to  try." 

"Nonsense,"  replied  the  man  of  common  sense, 
"You  just  suit  me  perfectly  as  you  are.  Why, 
you  'd  spoil  it  all  if  you  even  thought  of  trying. 
What  is  there  to  try?  You  are  you.  I  would  n't 
have  the  biggest  fault  or  the  smallest  virtue  in  you 
altered  by  the  ten-millionth  of  an  inch." 

When  Charlotte  had  shut  the  door  of  her  state- 
room and  had  snapped  on  the  light,  she  sank  for  an 
instant  on  the  locker,  with  a  face  in  which  pride, 
shame,  and  contrition  were  tumultuously  mingled. 

[115] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

For  why  had  she  spent  twenty-eight  years  acquir- 
ing tastes  and  criterions  which,  at  that  moment, 
made  her  seem  incredibly  mean  and  ungenerous? 


[116] 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  well  on  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day 
when  they  anchored  off  Cuyo,  which,  with 
its  squat  lighthouse  and  low  shore,  impressed 
Charlotte  as  a  dreary,  lonesome  spot.  A  launch, 
which  was  lying  abreast  the  lighthouse,  saluted 
them  with  vociferous  toots,  and  CoUingwood  waved 
his  hat  in  joyous  response. 

"That's  Mac,  all  right,"  he  said.  "He'll  be 
aboard  directly.  It 's  a  wonder  he  did  n't  hire  the 
town  band  to  welcome  us." 

Charlotte  winced  and  secretly  rejoiced  that  for 
once  Mr.  Maclaughlin's  initiative  had  failed  to  come 
up  to  its  reputation.  Yet  when  a  boat  came  along- 
side, and  a  grizzled  Scotch- American  stepped  up 
the  short  ladder,  her  greeting  was  warm  enough 
to  fully  satisfy  her  husband. 

"My  soul!"  said  Mr.  Maclaughlin,  giving  her  a 
lengthy  handshake  and  a  look  of  unqualified  ad- 
miration, "but  you  could  ha'  knocked  us  down  with 
a  feather  the  day  the  letter  came  saying  that  Mar- 

[117] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

tin  would  bring  back  a  wife.  Kingsnorth  nigh 
took  to  his  bed  on  it." 

Consternation  was  plainly  written  on  Mrs.  Col- 
lingwood's  face.  Her  sensitiveness  was  a-flutter, 
fearing  a  cold  welcome  from  hgr  husband's  friends. 

"I  'm  sorry,"  she  began,  and  then  came  to  an 
awkward  stop. 

"No  offence,  I  hope,"  said  Maclaughlin,  reading 
the  signs.  "He  's  well  over  it  by  now.  Kings- 
north  is  just  one  of  those  poor  bodies  we  call  a 
woman-hater ;  and  you  '11  notice,  Mrs.  ColUng- 
wood,  that  they  always  begin  life  just  the  opposite. 
He  thought  he  'd  found  a  bunkie  for  life  in  Mar- 
tin, an'  the  lad  fooled  him!  I  don't  say  but  we 
were  all  surprised,  but  you  '11  find  a  hearty  welcome 
at  the  island." 

"Can  we  get  out  to-night?"  asked  Colhngwood. 

"Get  out  in  an  hour  if  we  can  get  our  freight 
transhipped,  unless  Mrs.  CoUingwood  is  in  a  mind 
to  stay  and  see  the  city  by  gaslight."  He  jerked 
a  derisive  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  iron  and 
nipa  roofs  ashore. 

"All  the  light  stuff  is  on  deck  now,"  said  Martin 
whose  instincts  to  accomplish  whatever  was  to  be 
done  mastered  any  tendency  toward  conversation. 

[118] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  a  tarpaulin-covered 
heap  forward.  "The  heavy  eases  are  stored  where 
they  can  be  hauled  up  in  a  minute.  I  '11  see  the 
captain  at  once.  He  won't  try  to  delay  us,  not  he. 
Get  alongside  right  away,  with  the  launch,  can't 
you?" 

"I  doubt  you've  gone  broke,"  remarked  Mac- 
laughlin,  contemplating  the  heap  and  smiling  at 
Charlotte,  who  laughed. 

"Not  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope,"  she  responded,  "but 
some  of  the  credit  is  due  me  that  he  has  n't." 

"That 's  a  fact,"  her  husband  supplemented.  "I 
wanted  to  buy  out  Manila  and  wire  additional  sup- 
plies from  Hong  Kong.  However,  we  can  talk 
about  that  later.  Thank  the  Lord,  there  is  n't  any 
sea  on.  We  would  have  the  devil's  own  time 
transhipping,  if  there  were." 

He  dashed  off,  and  MaclaughHn  jumped  into 
his  boat  with  an  order  to  the  native  rowers  to  hurry. 
For  an  instant,  Charlotte  was  annoyed  by  their  un- 
ceremonious departure,  but  her  good  sense  soon 
rose  superior  to  her  training.  Martin  alert,  talk- 
ing business,  with  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
a  long  pencil  emphasizing  his  gestures,  was  a  very 
different  figure  from  the  insouciant  young  pagan, 

[119] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

alternately  jocose  and  pleading,  that  had  wooed 
her.  How  quickly,  too,  the  easy  speech  of  the  hus- 
band had  possessed  him.  "Devil's  own  time"  came 
ripping  out  with  unconscious  force.  At  first, 
Charlotte's  fastidiousness  revolted  from  it.  Then 
she  decided  that  it  was  virile  and  that  she  liked  it. 
Still,  she  mused,  if  he  felt  the  need  of  emphatic 
embellishment  to  point  the  assertion  of  so  simple 
a  fact  as  that,  what  might  he  not  do  when  an  oc- 
casion out  of  the  ordinary  arose? 

Her  question  was  answered  before  their  goods 
and  commissaries  were  aboard  the  launch,  and,  for  a 
time,  she  could  not  tell  whether  she  wanted  to  laugh 
or  to  cry.  While  she  was  still  in  doubt,  her  hus- 
band came  back,  red  and  perspiring,  with  his  coat 
off.     He  held  out  a  collar  and  necktie. 

"Just  look  out  for  these  things  for  me,  won't 
you?"  he  said.  "My!  I 'm  pretty  well  cussed  out. 
Hope  I  did  n't  shock  you,  pet." 

"You  did,  but  it  didn't  matter;  or  rather,  it 
passed  the  point  of  shocking.  You  have  the  tower- 
ing imagination  in  profanity,  Martin,  of  an  archi- 
tect of  sky-scraping  buildings." 

CoUingwood  was  able  to  extract  a  compliment 
from  this,  and  looked  grateful,  though  he  was  evi- 

[120] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

dently  impressed  by  the  form  of  its  expression.  "I 
may  have  said  a  little  too  much,"  he  apologized, 
"but  a  man  would  have  to  be  a  saint  not  to  lose  his 
temper  —  Here!"  he  roared,  as  three  of  the  crew, 
having  mounted  to  the  upper  deck  and  having  armed 
themselves  with  a  flower  pot  apiece,  started  brazenly 
off  with  their  burdens,  "take  two  of  those  at  a  time. 
How  many  trips  do  you  plan  to  make  with  this 
flower  garden,  anyway?  You  see  that  everything 
is  right  in  the  stateroom,  won't  you?"  he  threw  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  darted  off^. 

"Certainly,"  she  replied,  adding  to  herself,  "for 
I  shouldn't  like  you  to  *cuss'  me." 

She  felt  quite  safe  from  any  such  dire  possibility, 
or  she  could  not  have  joked  about  it  even  with  her- 
self. Nevertheless,  she  was  very  thoughtful  as  she 
gathered  up  their  belongings  and  put  them  in  the 
valises,  leaving,  however,  the  strapping  and  the  pull- 
ing to  be  done  by  Martin. 

When  she  had  done  all  that  there  was  to  be  done, 
and  had  put  on  her  hat,  she  sank  down  on  a  locker, 
still  holding  her  husband's  discarded  collar,  and  let 
her  thoughts  dwell  rosily  on  the  part  she  could  play 
in  the  island  life.  A  guilty  conscience  urged  her 
to  acts  of  reparation.     All  that  she  could  do  to 

[m] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

bring  order  and  system  and  beauty  into  her  hus- 
band's home  she  was  resolved  to  do.  He  had  told 
her  enough  to  let  her  know  that  he  had  lived  in 
an  unlovely  fashion,  and  that  he  had  aspirations 
for  something  better,  though  he  could  not  define 
what  he  objected  to  in  the  past,  or  just  what  he 
wanted  in  the  future.  He  was  bent  on  making 
money,  chiefly  because  he  seemed  to  feel  that  there 
was  no  way  of  obtaining  his  ideal  without  large 
expenditures ;  and  yet  he  was  not  ostentatious.  He 
had  been  very  liberal  —  extravagant,  she  had  laugh- 
ingly told  him  —  in  the  purchase  of  household  be- 
longings; and  she  had  told  the  truth  when  she  said 
that  she  deserved  the  credit  of  restraining  him.  He 
was  going  to  become  the  typical  American  husband, 
who  labors  unceasingly  that  his  womankind  may 
be  decked  in  finery  and  may  represent  him  in  the 
whirl  of  society;  but  his  wife  could  see  that,  until 
such  a  time  as  their  prosperity  should  be  at  flood 
tide,  he  would  expect  her  to  administer  wisely  and 
economically.  He  gave  much  —  as  far  as  he  was 
conscious  of  her  needs  —  and  he  would  ask  pro- 
portionally in  return.  Charlotte's  head  reared 
proudly  to  meet  the  thought.  She  would  not  fail 
him.     And  then  she  vowed  for  the  hundredth  time, 

[  122  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

that  his  unstinted  devotion  should  meet  with  its  just 
due,  and  that  never,  never  should  Martin  suspect 
how  she  had  had  to  battle  with  herself  before  she 
could  conquer  the  feeling  that  her  love  was  a  shame 
to  her. 

Martin,  coming  to  seek  her  in  order  to  introduce 
her  to  the  wife  of  a  local  mihtary  officer,  found 
her  sunk  in  reverie  with  his  crumpled  neck-wear 
pressed  against  her  cheek.  He  put  on  a  clean  tie 
and  collar  and  they  went  on  deck  together. 

The  military  officer's  wife  was  a  young  woman, 
plainly  of  village  origin,  who  was  carrying  the  wide- 
spreading  sail  which  many  Americans  in  the  Philip- 
pines elect  to  display  in  the  exuberance  of  having 
journeyed  to  foreign  lands.  Her  appearance 
jarred  on  Mrs.  Collingwood,  and  her  conversation, 
which  was  frivolous  and  full  of  assumption,  re- 
inforced the  unfavorable  impression. 

The  lady  had  met  Collingwood  three  or  four 
times  before,  and  had  treated  him  with  scant  cour- 
tesy, because  he  had  been  an  enlisted  man.  But 
when  she  heard  that  he  was  married,  and  that  his 
wife  was  aboard  ship,  her  curiosity  got  the  better 
of  her  exclusiveness  —  that  and  her  eagerness  to 
hear  the  sound  of  her  own  voice,  for  there  were 

[123] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

few  Americans  in  Cuyo,  and  she  was  already  on 
bad  terms  with  several  families.  She  threw  a  gush- 
ing condescension  into  her  manner  of  greeting 
Charlotte,  which  put  that  young  woman's  nerves 
on  edge  at  once.  But  Mrs.  Snodgrass  ("What  a 
name!"  thought  Charlotte,  "I  never  expected  to 
meet  it  out  of  books!")  was  determined  to  make 
the  best  of  the  conversational  opportunity.  After 
a  somewhat  ingenuous  scrutiny,  she  invited  the  Col- 
lingwoods  to  dinner.  Charlotte  was  about  to  de- 
cline, when  Martin  interrupted  and  said  that  their 
being  delayed  an  hour  or  so  was  of  no  importance; 
that  it  was  evidently  going  to  be  a  clear  night,  and 
they  had  time  enough  to  make  the  run  over  before 
dawn.  Charlotte  supposed  that  some  affection  for 
Lieutenant  Snodgrass  —  who  had  been  a  captain  of 
volunteers  in  the  war,  and  Martin's  ofBcer  —  was 
the  cause  of  her  husband's  eagerness,  and  she  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  at  once.  She  went  ashore  with 
the  Lieutenant's  wife,  while  Martin  remained  to 
see  to  a  few  last  details,  and  to  make  some  arrange- 
ments with  Maclaughlin. 

Lieutenant  and  Mrs.  Snodgrass  (he  had  not  been 
able  to  secure  entrance  to  the  regular  army  with 
his  volunteer  rank)    were  comfortably  domiciled, 

[124] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

and  the  meal  was  a  good  one,  though  Charlotte  was 
made  uncomfortable  by  the  hostess's  repeated 
apologies  both  for  her  food  and  her  service.  "The 
servants  are  such  impossible  creatures  here,  don't 
you  think?"  fluttered  the  little  woman  who,  before 
her  marriage,  had  been  a  stenographer  working  for 
twelve  dollars  a  week,  and  who  had  never  enjoyed 
the  luxury  of  a  servant  in  her  life  till  she  came  to 
the  Philippines. 

Charlotte  glanced  at  her  in  surprise.  "I  had 
not  thought  so,"  she  replied.  "They  need  a  great 
deal  of  training,  of  course,  but  I  fancied  them  ideal 
servants,  so  truly  of  the  servant  class,  believing  that 
God  ordained  us  to  be  masters,  and  them  to  serve. 
At  home,  I  feel  that  servants  do  not  acquiesce  in 
the  situation,  and  the  more  intelligent  they  are,  the 
more  sensitive  I  am  to  the  undercurrent." 

It  was  evident  that  Mrs.  Snodgrass  regarded 
this  remark  as  verbiage.  "How  funny!"  she  said. 
"I  never  felt  that  way." 

"In  other  words,"  remarked  Lieutenant  Snod- 
grass, who  was  a  self-made  man,  but  who  was  tak- 
ing on  his  army  training  with  great  quickness, 
"Mrs.  Collingwood  prefers  an  aristocratic  social 
system  to  a  democratic  one." 

[  125  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"I  suppose  so,"  Charlotte  assented,  "though 
theoretically  I  stand  for  democracy  like  all  good 
Americans.  You  inferred  a  condition  of  my  mind 
of  which  I  was  hardly  conscious  myself.  But  I 
suppose  you  are  right." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Collingwood?  You  are  the 
most  rabid  democrat  I  know.  Are  you  going  to 
bring  your  wife  over  to  your  way  of  thinking?" 

Martin  was  staring  at  Charlotte,  who  began  to 
color  with  embarrassment.  Her  view-point  had 
seemed  to  her  so  natural  and  so  simple  that  she 
was  quite  unprepared  for  the  comment  it  evoked. 

"I  '11  have  to  coach  you  up  before  I  turn  you  loose 
on  people,"  he  said.  "Why,  I  never  thought  it  of 
you." 

Lieutenant  Snodgrass  assumed  the  air  of  a  man, 
the  length  of  whose  matrimonial  experience  justifies 
him  in  extensive  allusions  to  feminine  peculiarities. 

"Oh,  if  she  does  n't  startle  you  any  worse  than 
that,"  he  hinted  darkly. 

After  dinner,  Charlotte  was  left  to  a  long  hour 
of  Mrs.  Snodgrass's  company  while  their  husbands 
reviewed  war  experiences  and  discussed  that  never- 
ending  theme  of  exiles,  the  Government's  Philip- 
pine policy.     It  was  ten  o'clock  when  the  Colhng- 

[126] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

woods  bade  good-bye  to  their  hosts,  with  the  usual 
promise  of  an  exchange  of  visits.  They  found 
MaclaughHn  waiting  for  them  at  the  landing  with 
the  boat.  He  asked  Mrs.  Colhngwood  if  she  could 
steer  and,  being  told  that  she  could,  vacated  his 
place  in  the  stern  for  her. 

The  night  was  dark  but  not  cloudy,  like  the  pre- 
vious one.  The  moon  would  not  rise  till  later,  but 
the  night  azure  of  the  sky  was  unclouded,  and  all 
the  constellations  of  the  tropic  belt  were  gUttering 
in  its  peaceful  depths.  The  Southern  Cross  was 
there,  and  the  so-called  False  Cross,  while,  in  the 
north,  the  "Big  Dipper"  hung  low  and  out  of  place. 
The  water  was  phosphorescent,  the  oars  turning  in 
green  fire,  which  sent  a  milKon  prickles  flashing 
away  in  the  waves.  When,  now  and  then,  a  banca 
crept  past  them,  its  shape  was  outUned  in  the  same 
lurid  radiance,  and  the  noiseless  paddles  dripped 
smears  of  unearthly  flame.  Charlotte  pulled  her 
tiller  ropes  in  silence,  keeping  a  wary  eye  out  for 
unhghted  craft,  and  watching  the  huddle  of  Ughts 
that  was  their  launch.  The  coastguard  cutter  had 
left  half  an  hour  before.  She  was  a  faint  glimmer 
of  dots  on  the  vague  horizon;  her  smoke  still  Isiy 
a  wavering,  dark  line  across  the  night  sky. 

[127  1 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Suddenly  a  tremor  of  deadly  fear  shook  Char- 
lotte. There  went  the  chain  by  which  she  had  felt 
herself  linked  to  the  world  and  civilization.  She 
had  put  herself  at  the  mercy  of  a  man  of  whom  she 
knew,  after  all,  next  to  nothing.  Once  aboard  the 
launch,  once  out  of  Cuyo  harbor,  she  was  as  utterly 
in  his  power  as  any  prisoner  in  a  dungeon  is  in  the 
power  of  his  captors.  A  wife  may  have  rights  and 
privileges  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  but  they  avail  her 
little  on  an  island  where  no  one  of  her  own  race 
save  her  husband's  friends  steps  foot. 

Her  crowding  thoughts  sickened  her,  though  she 
had  enough  will  and  strength  to  guide  the  boat 
alongside  the  launch.  Collingwood  threw  away  his 
cigar  and  held  out  his  hands.  "Up  with  you,"  he 
cried  gayly.  I 

The  answer  was  a  half  movement  and  a  groan 
as  she  dropped  back  with  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Charlotte,  are  you  sick?  My  God  I  What's 
the  matter?" 

His  vehemence  and  the  fear  in  his  voice  reassured 
her.  With  indomitable  pride  she  raised  herself. 
"My  ankle  turned;  it  was  sickening  pain  for  an 
instant.  It  is  all  right,  I  think.  The  pain  is  grow- 
ing less." 

[128] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

She  hated  herself  for  the  lie.  She  despised  her- 
self for  the  little  pretence  she  still  made  at  lame- 
ness as  her  husband  would  have  picked  her  up  bodily. 
"I  can  walk,"  she  said,  and  stepped  over  the 
thwarts. 

Maclaughlin  had  clambered  aboard  ready  to  re- 
ceive her  as  Martin  lifted  her.  They  put  her  in  the 
steamer  chair  which  was  to  serve  her  as  a  stateroom, 
and  Martin  hovered  over,  chafing  her  hands,  offer- 
ing her  brandy  from  his  pocket  flask.  Mr.  Mac- 
laughhn,  after  making  certain  that  she  was  not 
seriously  hurt,  tactfully  removed  himself.  Martin 
called  to  him  to  wait  a  minute  before  pulling  out; 
that  it  might  be  necessary  to  get  a  doctor.  Char- 
lotte's face  burned.  She  was  grateful  for  the  dark- 
ness that  hid  it.    - 

"It  is  not  even  sprained,"  she  said  truthfully. 
"There  —  see  how  I  can  move  it.  It  did  n't  amount 
to  anything,  only  I  am  such  a  coward." 

"You  are  sure  now?"  said  Martin,  She  was  only 
too  glad  to  say  that  she  was. 

An  hour  later,  a  waveless  sea  was  gurghng  musi- 
cally as  the  launch  cut  through  it,  and  a  tropical 
moon  was  scattering  a  pathway  of  brilliants  into 
which  the  little  craft  seemed  desirous  of  plunging 
^  [  129  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

herself,  but  which  she  could  never  quite  attain.  The 
Fihpino  steersman  shifted  from  foot  to  foot,  a  dim 
moving  shape  at  his  shadowed  post.  Mysterious 
clanks  and  groans  issued  at  intervals  from  the  en- 
gine-room below.  There  was  no  longer  a  wavering 
dark  line  across  the  night  sky,  though  the  light  on 
Cuyo  was  still  visible.  And  in  the  exquisite  peace 
a  woman,  reared  to  luxury  and  social  exclusiveness, 
lay  in  her  deck  chair  and  listened  to  the  talk  of  men 
who  had  known  most  of  the  shadows  of  life  and 
some  of  its  pits  of  evil,  took  their  homage,  too,  and 
found  it  tasty. 

Each  had  drawn  up  one  of  the  three-legged,  rat- 
tan stools  which  are  so  common  in  the  Phihppines 
and  they  were  seated  one  on  each  side  of  her.  Their 
talk  wandered  over  many  themes,  but  was  always 
terse  and  vivid.  They  agreed  in  damning  the 
Government.  All  civilian  non-employees  do  that 
continually.  They  spoke  of  affairs  on  the  island, 
and  discussed  the  administration  of  local  justice 
with  the  simplicity  of  men  who  do  not  quibble  over 
political  documents,  but  who  have  a  strong  convic- 
tion that  the  powerful  must  rule  the  weak.  One 
of  the  Japanese  divers  was  making  trouble  with 
the  launch  crew,  preaching  the  inferiority  of  the 

[130] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

white  race  and  the  drubbing  one  part  of  it  was  des- 
tined to  receive.  *'I  guess  he  's  right  on  the  Rus- 
sians," said  Colhngwood.  *'I  believe  the  Japs  will 
thrash  them  into  the  middle  of  kingdom  come ;  but 
if  he  goes  to  putting  on  any  airs  around  me,  I  '11  kick 
him  into  the  China  Sea." 

"No  need,"  said  Maclaughlin  cheerily,  "I  did 
it  for  him  last  week.     It  did  him  a  world  of  good." 

"How  are  findings?" 

"None  too  good.  We  '11  not  make  our  fortunes 
this  year,  but  we  '11  make  our  keep,  and  a  little  to 
spare."  The  smile  on  the  keen  face  told  Charlotte 
that  the  speaker  was  not  dissatisfied. 

"How's  Kingsnorth?" 

"Just  himself." 

"Poor  devil,"  said  Martin  feelingly.  Maclaugh- 
lin broke  into  a  hearty  laugh.  "Hear  the  married 
man,"  he  cried,  "an'  if  you  could  ha'  heard  him 
six  months  gone,  Mrs.  CoUingwood !" 

"I  probably  should  n't  have  liked  it,"  said  Char- 
lotte dryly. 

"Kingsnorth  will  snort  when  he  hears  that  Mrs. 
Snodgrass  asked  us  to  dinner,"  said  Martin. 
"They  don't  like  each  other,"  he  explained  to  his 
wife.     "I  can't  say  I  ever  thought  she  liked  me 

[131] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

much  till  this  trip.  She  thinks  I  'm  likelier  to  be 
a  respectable  member  of  society,  now  I  'm  married. 
She  thinks  that  because  I  was  a  soldier  I  went  about 
sowing  wild  oats  by  the  cavan." 

It  happened  that  at  the  moment  he  finished  the 
remark,  Charlotte's  glance  rested  on  Maclaughhn, 
whose  face  was  fair  in  the  moonlight.  In  a  flash 
—  in  just  the  instant's  time  that  it  took  him  to 
change  his  expression  —  she  read  the  man's  judg- 
ment that  Collingwood  owed  thanks  to  his  wife 
for  any  civility  received  from  Mrs.  Snodgrass.  A 
man  brought  up  in  the  British  empire  has  some 
sources  of  knowledge  denied  the  citizens  of  our 
great  republic.  Thirty  years  of  kicking  over 
American  frontiers  had  robbed  the  Scotchman  of 
many  a  national  trait.  They  had  not  obscured  his 
firm  fixed  impressions  of  gentility.  He  knew 
Martin's  wife  for  a  gentlewoman. 

"How  did  you  like  Mrs.  Snodgrass?"  Martin 
asked  his  wife. 

Charlotte  cast  about  for  something  truthful  and 
non-committal.  "I  thought  she  was  very  prettily 
dressed,"  she  replied,  "and  that  she  showed  very 
good  taste  in  her  home.  It  was  cosy,  and  the 
dinner  was  excellent." 

[132] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

"Good  heavens,  Charlotte!  I  didn't  ask  you 
that.     I  asked  you  how  you  liked  her." 

"She  told  you,"  said  Maclaughlin  with  a  short 
laugh. 

"Of  course  I  did,"  echoed  Charlotte.  "I  put  it 
in  the  most  forcible  way  I  could.  Don't  pretend 
you  did  not  understand." 

"I  understood  well  enough.  I  just  wanted  you 
to  come  out  and  out  with  what  you  mean.  Why 
don't  you  like  her?" 

"She  is  too  commonplace  and  too  assuming." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  commonplace?" 

"I  mean  —  I  mean  — "  exasperation  brought  her 
to  the  point  of  unguarded  speech  — "a  woman  who 
says  *Don't  you  know?'  with  every  other  breath, 
or  tacks  on  a  sweet  'Isn't  it  so?'  or  *Don't  you 
think?'  to  qualify  every  word  she  utters.  I  mean 
a  woman  of  exactly  Mrs.  Snodgrass's  type." 

"Commonplace  always  means  a  woman  then?" 

But  by  that  time  Charlotte  was  laughing,  partly 
at  her  flash  of  temper,  partly  at  the  odd  confusion 
of  her  definition,  which  Martin  had  so  quickly 
pointed  out  with  his  uncompromising  finger. 

"It  doesn't  mean  a  man  like  you,"  she  said. 
"You  are  not  commonplace,  but  unique." 

[133] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

"The  only  one  of  my  kind,"  said  Martin  yawn- 
ing. She  could  see,  under  his  jocularity,  his  pride 
and  pleasure  in  her  (as  he  considered)  audacity. 
Her  criticisms  of  the  lady  meant  little  to  him,  ex- 
cept as  they  were  the  gauntlet  thrown  down,  the 
laudable  declaration  that  Martin  ColUngwood's 
wife  was  not  going  to  stand  any  patronizing  from 
the  regular  army.  But  she  realized  also  that  he 
was  flattered  by  the  invitation  they  had  received. 
To  him  Lieutenant  and  Mrs.  Snodgrass  were  peo- 
ple that  counted.  A  pang  of  contrition  shot 
through  her  that  what  had  been  a  sort  of  social 
triumph  to  him  had  been  an  unmitigated  bore  to 
her.  Then  a  sense  of  humor  came  uppermost. 
The  boredom  she  might  conceal.  But  as  well  at- 
tempt to  make  water  run  up  hill  as  to  make  Char- 
lotte Collingwood  regard  an  acquaintance  with 
Lieutenant  and  Mrs.  Snodgrass  as  a  social  triumph. 
Maclaughlin,  who  was  to  take  the  first  watch,  went 
forward,  and  CoUingwood  curled  himself  up,  native 
fashion,  on  a  mat  at  his  wife's  feet.  Long  after 
his  deep  respirations  told  her  that  he  was  fast 
asleep,  she  lay  with  wide  open  eyes,  staring  into 
the  silvered  pathway  ahead  of  them,  her  thoughts 
a  blending  of  regret  and  of  exquisite  joy.     When, 

[134] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

at  three  o'clock,  Maclaughlin  came  to  wake  up  Mar- 
tin, she  pretended  to  be  asleep,  and  shortly  after 
she  did  fall  into  a  slumber,  from  which  she  was 
awakened  by  her  husband's  voice  and  the  word 
"home." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  an  instinctive  move- 
ment of  bewilderment,  and  then  caught  her  breath 
for  sheer  delight  in  what  she  saw. 

The  launch  was  riding  a  mile  or  more  off  the 
shore  of  a  wedge-shaped  island  perhaps  three  miles 
in  length.  Its  backbone  was  a  line  of  hills  which 
rose  precipitously  from  the  sea  on  the  eastern  side 
(as  she  later  discovered)  but  which,  on  the  west 
sloped  gently  down  to  a  level  coast  plain,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  or  more  broad.  The  plain  and  the  hills 
were  one  huge  cocoanut  grove.  In  the  foreground, 
the  columned  boles  and  the  graceful  plumes  made 
a  great  haunt  of  emerald  shade,  a  dream  place  of 
cool  recesses  and  long  cathedral  aisles.  Its  rich, 
imvarying  greenness  seemed  the  more  vivid  by  con- 
trast with  the  changing  hues  of  the  shallow  water, 
with  the  gleaming  whiteness  of  the  beach,  and  the 
occasional  overtopping  of  a  wave  like  the  dip  of  a 
sea-gull's  wings. 

At  the  northern  apex  of  the  island,  situated 
[  135  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

where  they  not  only  commanded  the  western  sea, 
but  looked  eastward  over  a  channel  to  the  coast  line 
of  Panay  and  a  scarped  mountain  rearing  its  cloud- 
hung  flanks  against  a  lustering  sky,  three  steep 
nipa-roofed  cottages  nestled  among  the  palms. 
Southward,  the  beach  line  ran  straight  till  it  curved 
out  into  a  sharp  point  in  front  of  one  of  the  hills. 
There  stood  a  small  nipa  village. 

Dawn  flushes  played  across  the  sky  behind  the 
distant  mountain,  and  pearled  the  shining  sea.  A 
great  fishing  hanca  manned  by  at  least  twelve  oars- 
men swept  boldly  past  them.  The  naked  backs 
were  made  of  rippling  bronze.  A  lorcha,  almost 
on  the  western  horizon  line,  showed  in  faint  lines 
and  in  gleaming  spots  of  mother  of  pearl.  The 
morning  breeze  was  almost  chill. 

It  came,  a  crowding  of  perceptions  and  sensa- 
tions, but  Charlotte's  pleasure  was  almost  ecstatic, 

"Beautiful,  beautiful!"  she  murmured.  "It  is 
a  veritable  paradise." 

''Is  it?"  said  Maclaughlin's  knowing  voice  be- 
hind her.  *'I  'm  glad  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Colling- 
wood.  My  wife  has  been  doubting  you  'd  find  it 
dull.     Martin  and  I  will  take  ours  with  a  bandstand 

[  136  1 


The  Locusts^  Years 

and  a  few  trolley-cars  and  a  chop-house  thrown  in, 
eh,  ColKngwood?" 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Mac,  don't  pour  cold  water  on 
my  wife's  enthusiasms.  Besides,  she  's  got  a  poetic 
soul,  and  you  and  I  have  n't." 

Charlotte  stared.  "What  will  you  endow  me  with 
next?"  she  asked.  "A  poetic  soul!  Martin,  who 
has  been  talking  about  poetry  for  the  last  two 
months?" 

"I  don't  mind  admitting,"  said  Mr.  Collingwood 
shamelessly,  "that  I  have,  or,  at  least,  I  've  been 
dweUing  on  the  poetry  of  love  and  I  found  you 
responsive.  Therefore  I  deduced  a  poetic  soul  — 
sort  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     Sabe?" 

She  made  no  reply  beyond  one  of  those  reproach- 
ful head  shakes  which  indicate  the  compromise 
between  duty  and  inclination.  Martin  grinned. 
He  knew  when  she  tried  to  be  severe,  but  was  yet 
secretly  pleased  with  him. 

Charlotte  did  what  she  could  to  repair  the  dis- 
hevelled appearance  caused  by  sleeping  dressed  in 
the  steamer  chair.  A  few  minutes  later,  they  were 
all  in  the  boat,  speeding  straight  for  the  nipa  cot- 
tages.    Martin  explained  that  the  launch  could  go 

[137] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

in  no  further  on  account  of  the  coral  reef;  but, 
he  said,  a  mile  or  more  to  the  southward,  where  the 
hill  jutted  out,  there  was  a  channel  cut  through  the 
reef,  and  the  launch  could  come  close  in  and  find 
anchorage  in  a  pool  which  lay  under  the  cliff.  A 
rude  pier  had  been  constructed  there,  and  there  their 
freight  would  be  landed  and  then  dragged  up  to 
them  along  the  beach  in  a  carabao  cart;  for  they 
had  one  draft  animal.  He  further  informed  her 
that  the  launch  lay  down  at  the  anchorage  every 
night,  and  came  up  abreast  the  cottages  every  morn- 
ing to  pick  up  the  fishers,  for  it  was  easier  to  be 
rowed  out  than  to  trudge  down  the  mile  of  sand. 

As  they  drew  near  the  shore,  Charlotte  perceived 
that,  in  spite  of  the  steep  roofs,  the  cottages  had 
something  of  an  American  air,  having  broad  ver- 
andas in  front ;  while  one,  which  she  imagined  must 
be  the  Maclaughlin  home,  was  covered  with  morn- 
ing glory  vines.  The  houses  sat  back  about  fifty 
yards  from  the  beach,  just  where  the  cocoanut 
grove  came  to  an  end,  and  it  was  evident  that  the 
sea  breeze  made  them  deliciously  cool. 

A  man  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  beach,  and, 
as  the  boat  grounded,  a  woman  emerged  from  the 
vine-wreathed  cottage,  and  came  swiftly  on,  flap- 

[138] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

ping  a  kitchen  apron  which  she  was  wearing,  and 
making  other  gestures  of  welcome.  Charlotte  had 
little  time  to  observe  either  closely,  for  her  atten- 
tion was  quite  taken  up  with  the  novel  preparations 
for  landing  her  and  her  companions.  Full  thirty 
feet  of  water  intervened  between  them  and  the  dry 
sand,  not  deep  enough  to  drown  in,  but  quite  enough 
to  spoil  dress  and  shoes.  The  Filipino  oarsmen 
met  the  difficulty,  however,  by  rolling  up  their 
trousers  and  going  overboard.  They  made  a  chair 
of  their  clasped  hands,  and  Charlotte,  seating  her- 
self therein,  was  carried  ashore  and  set  down  in 
front  of  Mrs.  Maclaughlin. 

Mrs.  Maclaughlin  was  tall  and  bony  with  iron- 
gray  hair  and  a  large  featured,  strong  face,  charac- 
teristic of  the  pioneer.  She  was  not  shy,  and  she 
seized  Mrs.  Collingwood  by  both  hands  and  kissed 
her,  then  held  her  off  for  inspection. 

"Well,  Martin  Collingwood  's  a  fool  for  luck," 
she  remarked.  "I  never  thought  he  'd  get  a  nice, 
peart,  styhsh  girl  like  you  to  follow  him  off  to  a 
place  like  this.  You  're  either  mad  —  and  you 
don't  look  it  —  or  you  're  worse  in  love  than  any 
woman  ever  was  before  you." 

The  informality  of  the  greeting  took  Charlotte's 
[139] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

breath.  As  she  stood  blushing,  a  large,  brown,  and 
well-made  hand  was  extended  to  her. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  CoUingwood?"  said  a 
voice  in  the  refined  accents  of  the  upper  class  Eng- 
lishman. "I  don't  need  to  introduce  myself,  do 
I?  Martin  has  told  you  all  about  us,  and  there  are 
not  enough  of  us  to  confuse.  Don't  let  Mrs.  Mac's 
plainness  of  speech  annoy  you.  When  you  are  well 
acquainted,  you  '11  rather  like  it.  It  breaks  the 
monotony  of  things." 

She  tried  to  make  some  trivial,  laughing  re- 
joinder; but  the  words  faltered  on  her  lips,  for, 
as  she  glanced  up  into  his  eyes,  she  saw  there  the 
instant  recognition  of  all  that  she  was,  the  inter- 
rogation flashing  into  quickly  throttled  life,  as  to 
why  she  was  Martin  Collingwood's  wife,  and  what 
she  could  possibly  have  to  do  with  a  colony  of  fisher 
folk  composed  of  one  insouciant  blade  of  fortune, 
two  typical  bits  of  western  flotsam,  and  a  renegade 
from  decent  society. 


[140] 


CHAPTER  VII 

ON  a  certain  cloudless  September  morning 
eight  months  later,  five  persons  were  mer- 
rily disporting  themselves  in  the  warm  bil- 
lows that  rolled  upon  the  island  beach.  It  was 
one  of  those  radiantly  clear  mornings  which  so 
often  occur  in  the  tropical  rainy  seasons  when  every 
particle  of  dust  has  been  washed  out  of  the  air, 
and  the  morning  breeze  is  of  a  spring-like  freshness. 
The  sun  had  not  yet  peeped  over  the  Antique  coast 
range,  but  the  mountain  flanks  were  outlined  in 
soft  mauve  and  gray  against  the  glowing  sky.  A 
fishing  fleet  off^  the  coast  showed  tints  of  pearl, 
and  thin  threads  of  masts  above  the  quiet  sea. 
Westward  there  was  a  sapphire  expanse,  and  a 
whole  string  of  lorchas,  every  inch  of  canvas  set 
to  take  advantage  of  the  fresh  wind,  standing  across 
on  a  tack  for  San  Jose  or  Cuyo. 

Charlotte  Collingwood,  slipping  out  of  the  water, 
paused  an  instant  to  breathe  deeply  and  to  feast  her 
eyes  upon  the  solitary  beauty  of  the  scene,  before 

[141] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

she  betook  herself  to  housekeeping  cares.  Then 
hastening  across  the  short  extent  of  ground  between 
the  beach  and  her  cottage,  she  sought  her  bathroom 
and  the  brisk  dousing  with  fresh  water  that  would 
remove  the  sticky  effects  of  the  sea  bath. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  emerged  from  her  bed- 
room as  hearty  looking  a  young  woman  as  you 
could  desire  to  see.  Her  shapely  figure,  ciad  in  a 
simple  white  pique  dress,  was  considerably  fuller 
than  it  had  been  in  her  hospital  days,  though  it  had 
not  degenerated  into  stoutness.  Her  skin  was  still 
colorless,  for  color  once  faded  in  the  tropics  is  gone 
forever;  but  her  face  was  fuller,  her  eye  brighter, 
her  expression  one  of  happiness  and  content. 

The  room  which  she  contemplated  with  a  pos- 
sessive and  complacent  eye  was  one  so  typical  of 
American  housekeeping  in  the  Philippines  that  it 
merits  description.  It  was  a  perfectly  square 
apartment,  generous  in  its  proportion.  Two  sides 
were  almost  entirely  taken  up  by  windows  open- 
ing on  a  deep-eaved  veranda.  The  series  of  shell 
lattices  were  pushed  back  to  their  fullest  extent, 
and  on  the  broad  window-seats  were  rows  of  potted 
ferns,  rose  geraniums,  and  foliage  plants,  some  in 
gleaming  brass  jardinieres,  some  in  old  blue  and 

[142] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

white  Chinese  jars.  The  walls  were  of  the  plaited 
bamboo  in  its  natural  color  called  suali;  but  the 
woodwork  of  soft  American  pine  had  been  care- 
fully burnt  by  Charlotte  herself,  and  gave  some 
richness  of  coloring.  The  floor  of  close  tied  bamboo 
slats  was  covered  with  blue  and  white  Japanese 
mats.  One  inside  wall  was  almost  entirely  hidden 
by  a  great  Romblon  mat,  upon  which  Colling- 
wood's  collection  of  spears,  bolos,  and  head  axes 
was  artfully  displayed.  Beneath  this,  an  army  cot, 
a  mattress,  and  some  blue  and  white  Japanese 
crepe  had  been  combined  into  a  tempting  couch 
heaped  with  pillows.  The  other  inside  wall  held  a 
very  fair  collection  of  hats,  ranging  from  the  cheap 
sun-defence  of  the  field  laborer  to  the  old-time 
aristocrat's  head-piece  of  tortoise-shell  ornamented 
with  silver.  Below  these  were  some  home-made 
shelves  with  Charlotte's  books  upon  them.  One 
corner  was  occupied  by  a  desk  of  carved  teak  in- 
laid with  mother  of  pearl,  a  veritable  treasure  which 
Kingsnorth  had  given  to  Charlotte  as  a  wedding 
present.  Another  corner  held  a  tall,  brass-bound 
Korean  chest  of  drawers,  which  Charlotte  had 
picked  up  at  an  auction  in  Manila.  A  suit  of  Moro 
armor  in  carabao  horn  and  link  copper  hung  be- 

[  143  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

side  this,  and  everywhere  there  was  brass  —  brass 
samovars  from  Manchuria,  incense  burners  from 
Japan,  Moro  gongs  and  betel-nut  boxes,  an  Indian 
tea  table  with  its  shining  tray.  Wherever  there 
was  room  for  them,  framed  photographs  decorated 
the  walls.  Rattan  easy-chairs  and  rockers  and  a 
steamer  chair  with  gay  cushions  lent  a  homely  com- 
fort to  the  apartment. 

As  the  room  was  living-room  and  dining-room 
combined,  its  centre  was  occupied  by  a  round  narra- 
table  —  a  beautiful  piece  of  old  Spanish  work- 
manship, the  glories  of  which  were  hidden  at  that 
moment  by  the  whitest  of  cloths  —  and  a  service  of 
Japanese  blue  and  white  china.  There,  too, 
gleamed  the  remains  of  the  Maryland  silver  which 
had  once  been  the  pride  of  a  county  —  the  great 
breakfast  tray  with  its  urn  and  attendant  dishes, 
the  heavy  knives  and  forks  and  spoons.  It  had  lain 
for  twenty  years  in  chests,  and  Charlotte  had 
brought  it  with  her  to  the  Philippines,  not  so  much 
anticipating  a  use  for  it,  as  making  it  the  evidence 
of  final  separation  from  all  that  her  life  had  known. 

Mrs.  Collingwood  never  ceased  to  contemplate 
her  living-room,  and  especially  her  table,  with  satis- 
faction.    The  snowy  linen,  the  gleaming  silver  and 

[144] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

glass,  stood  for  her  tastes.  She  could  remember 
vividly  the  depression  she  had  experienced  at  meal 
times  during  her  first  two  weeks  at  the  island,  when 
the  mess  made  its  headquarters  with  the  Maclaugh- 
lins.  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  dream  of  table  luxury- 
was  a  red  and  white  checked  cloth,  much  colored 
glass  in  the  form  of  tumblers,  sugar  bowl,  cream 
pitcher,  and  vinegar  cruets,  a  set  of  brown  and 
white  "semi-porcelain"  dishes,  and  knives  and  forks 
of  German  silver.  Charlotte  had  endured  the 
meals  for  which  Martin  had  half-way  prepared  her, 
by  the  exercise  of  fortitude  only;  but  she  had 
waited  patiently  for  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  own  sug- 
gestion of  a  division  of  labor. 

It  happened  that  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  greatly  de- 
sired to  devote  herself  to  poultry  and  gardening. 
The  islanders  had  to  depend  wholly  upon  poultry, 
fish,  pigs,  and  goats  for  meat,  and  upon  tinned 
vegetables.  Everybody  yearned  for  green  foods 
and  better  meats,  so  that  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  am- 
bitions received  a  hearty  support.  A  kitchen  was 
added  to  the  Collingwood  quarters,  the  stove  and 
kitchen  utensils  were  transferred,  and  Charlotte 
found  plenty  of  occupation  in  her  new  duties. 

The  work  was  naturally  to  her  taste.  She  pos- 
10  [145]      . 


The  Locusts^  Years 

sessed  an  ample  home-making  instinct,  and  she  had 
had,  in  addition  to  the  usual  '^Domestic  Science" 
course  of  a  modern  college,  her  nurse's  training  in 
dietetics.  Collingwood's  exuberant  delight  in  the 
changes  she  made  in  their  manner  of  living  was 
just  second  to  Kingsnorth's.  For  decency's  sake, 
that  gentleman  had  refrained  from  comment  in 
Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  presence;  but  after  their  first 
meal  he  had  taken  Mrs.  CoUingwood  aside,  and  had 
assured  her  with  unmistakable  sincerity  that  she  was 
no  less  than  a  fairy  godmother  in  their  midst.  He 
execrated  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  cooking,  her  taste  in 
foods,  and  her  ideas  of  table  service ;  and  his  grati- 
tude to  Charlotte  was  profound. 

Mrs.  CoUingwood  was  contemplating  her  break- 
fast table  and  smiling  softly  at  the  memory,  when 
her  husband  came  out  of  their  bedroom  in  his  work- 
ing clothes  —  flannel  shirt,  khaki  trousers,  and  sea 
boots.     He  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss. 

"You  vain  creature,"  he  said,  "looking  at  your 
housekeeping  and  thinking  how  you  can  lay  it  over 
Mrs.  Mac." 

"That  wouldn't  be  much  to  do.  Do  you  re- 
member that  red  and  white  tablecloth?" 

"Don't  I?  And  how  Kingsnorth  used  to  curse 
[  146  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

it!"  He  eyed  her  reflectively.  "Kingsnorth  is 
mighty  grateful  to  you,  Charlotte,  and  mighty  fond 
of  you." 

To  this,  at  first,  no  answer  was  returned.  Mrs. 
Collingwood  fingered  a  bowl  which  stood  in  the 
window,  flushed  slightly,  and  looked  embarrassed. 
At  last,  as  if  his  continued  silence  demanded  re- 
sponse, she  said  perfunctorily: 

"Well,  of  course,  if  I  have  made  things  pleas- 
anter  for  him,  incidentally,  in  doing  it  for  you,  I  'm 
glad." 

"That 's  the  only  thing  you  've  disappointed  me 
in.  I  wanted  you  and  him  to  be  good  friends.  I 
think  he  has  tried,  but  you  have  been  stubborn; 
there  's  no  denying  that,  pet." 

"I  Ve  tried  my  very  hardest.  I  'm  sorry,  Mar- 
tin.    You  '11  have  to  give  me  time." 

"Give  you  all  the  time  you  want,"  he  cried  gayly. 
"But  you  '11  have  to  come  round  in  the  end."  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders  half  seriously,  half  teas- 
ingly,  but  a  reply  was  obviated  by  the  entrance  of 
the  Maclaughlins  and  of  the  person  under  discus- 
sion. 

The  Englishman,  beak  nosed,  high  nostrilled, 
fair,  and  tall,  was  typical  of  his  race.     But  drink 

[147] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

had  dulled  his  eye,  his  skin  was  flabby,  and  an  un- 
speakable air  of  degeneration  hung  about  him. 
Even  the  exaggerated  deference  of  his  manner  to 
Mrs.  Collingwood  seemed  a  travesty  upon  the  once 
easy  courtesy  of  the  well-born  Briton.  As  for 
Charlotte,  she  stiffened  perceptibly.  Try  as  she 
would,  she  could  not  overcome  her  proud  resentment 
at  being  expected  to  associate  with  John  Kings- 
north. 

'*Any  special  plans  for  to-day,  Mrs.  Colling- 
wood?" Kingsnorth  demanded  as  they  sat  down 
to  breakfast. 

"There  never  are  any,  I  believe,  I  am  going  to 
make  a  lemon  pie  under  the  direct  supervision  of 
Mrs.  Maclaughlin.  My  husband  has  impressed  it 
upon  me  that  I  can  never  fulfil  his  ideal  of  a  cook 
till  I  can  make  such  lemon  pies  as  Mrs.  Maclaugh- 
lin does." 

In  a  second  Kingsnorth's  manner  changed,  just 
a  fine  hostile  change  which  implied  that  no  pie 
made  by  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  recipes  could  interest 
him.  "With  limoncitos/'  he  said  shghtingly,  "or 
with  those  big  knotty  yellow  things  that  the  women 
use  in  laundering  their  camisas?" 

"Why,  you  are  quite  up  in  native  customs,"  Char- 
[148] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

lotte  exclaimed.     "I  didn't  know  that.     Are  you 
sure?" 

A  faintly  cynical  smile  played  for  an  instant 
over  Kingsnorth's  features.  "Oh,  yes,  I  'm  sure," 
he  replied. 

Charlotte  became  suddenly  aware  of  a  changed 
atmosphere.  Martin  and  Maclaughlin  were  look- 
ing discreetly  into  their  plates,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin 
was  gazing  with  a  hostile  eye  at  Kingsnorth. 

"You  certainly  do  know  a  great  deal  about  Fil- 
ipino customs,"  she  said  meaningly. 

"You  keep  still,  Jenny,"  Maclaughlin  threw  in 
hastily.  His  wife  tossed  her  head  scornfully,  but 
subsided.  Kingsnorth  went  on  eating.  His  ex- 
pression was  not  agreeable.  Charlotte  threw  her- 
self into  the  silence  that  followed. 

"Martin,  who  is  that  bucolic  looking  Japanese 
that  I  saw  strolling  up  the  beach  this  morning?" 

"Bucolic  I  What  do  you  mean  by  that  long 
word?  You  are  always  springing  the  dictionary 
upon  me." 

This  charge  was  an  indication  that  Collingwood 
was  highly  pleased.  It  was  the  nearest  open  tribute 
he  ever  paid  to  his  wife's  education.  She  made  no 
reply,  but  smiled  at  him,  indulgent  of  his  wit. 

[149] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Well,  explain,"  Martin  went  on  teasingly. 
"What  does  it  mean?"  But  Charlotte  only  went 
on  smiling. 

"Greek  for  hayseed,"  Kingsnorth  put  in  lightly. 
"You  know  that  word,  CoUingwood?" 

"Right  you  are.  He  is  a  hayseed.  That  is  our 
new  diver.  He  came  down  on  the  lorcha  last  week, 
and  we  picked  him  up  with  the  launch.  Been 
promenading  around  here,  did  you  say?" 

"In  kimono  and  parasol,"  said  Charlotte. 

"Well,  he  goes  to  work  to-morrow.  He  won't 
get  much  more  time  to  parade." 

"Have  you  three  divers,  then?" 

"No.  The  fellow  that  Mac  kicked  has  n't  been 
able  to  get  over  it.  He  resigned  immediately,  but 
I  succeeded  in  convincing  him  that  he  couldn't 
quit  the  job  till  I  got  a  new  man  in  his  place.  I 
believe  he  wants  to  go  to  law  about  it." 

"Can  he  make  any  trouble?  Isn't  that  taking 
the  law  into  your  own  hands?" 

Martin  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Kingsnorth 
laughed.  "It  would  be  dangerous  on  British  soil," 
he  said,  "but  not  under  the  great  repubhc.  Who 
is  going  to  tack  back  and  forth  across  this  channel 
in  a  lorcha  or  a  parao,  because  a  Jap  got  kicked? 

[  150  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

His  nearest  magistrate  is  a  Filipino  juez  de  paz  on 
the  Antique  coast.  I  wish  him  joy  of  all  the  law 
he  can  get  there.  When  it  comes  to  the  island  of 
Maylubi,  Martin,  Mac,  and  I  are  the  law.  'Uetaty 
c'est  nous/ '' 

Mrs.  CoUingwood  smiled  discreetly  at  the 
French,  and  pushed  her  chair  back.  Kingsnorth 
often  threw  a  phrase  of  French  into  his  speech,  and 
she  felt  that  it  was  aimed  directly  at  her,  and  im- 
plied an  exclusion  of  the  others  from  their  superior 
plane  of  conversation.  It  was  not  an  act  character- 
istic of  an  Englishman  of  his  class,  and  she  realized 
that  only  the  intensity  of  his  desire  to  establish  him- 
self on  a  footing  of  intimacy  could  induce  him  to 
use  such  methods. 

They  all  walked  down  to  the  beach  together,  and 
after  Charlotte  had  watched  their  row-boat  pull 
alongside  the  launch,  she  sat  down  on  a  bit  of  sand 
grass  beneath  a  cocoanut  tree  and  revelled  in  the 
morning  breeze.  It  was  a  **four  man  breeze"  as 
they  say  when  four  men  are  needed  on  the  out- 
riggers of  the  paraos;  and  more  than  one  deep-sea 
fishing  craft  swept  by  with  its  four  naked  squat- 
ting outriders  sitting  at  ease  on  their  well  sprayed 
stations  with  the  great  sail  bellying  above  them.     As 

[151] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

the  tide  went  out,  troops  of  children  wandered  up 
the  beach,  digging  skilfully  with  their  toes  for 
clams,  or  pouncing  with  shrieks  of  delight  on  some 
stranded  jelly  fish.  From  the  field  beyond  the 
house,  their  gardener  could  be  heard  hissing  at  their 
one  draft  animal,  and  once  in  awhile  Mrs.  Mac- 
laughlin's  voice  arose  in  a  rain  of  pigeon  Spanish 
as  she  bent  over  her  garden  beds,  or  ranged  through 
her  poultry  yards. 

It  was  very  lonely,  but  Charlotte  did  not  mind  it. 
Barring  the  discomforts  of  their  experiences  in  the 
early  days  with  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  food,  and  the 
difficulty  of  holding  John  Kingsnorth  in  his  place 
without  betraying  her  feelings  about  him  to  Martin, 
she  might  have  said  that  her  island  life  hardly 
boasted  of  the  crumpled  rose  leaf.  Even  Kings- 
north's  evident  determination  to  be  accepted  as  an 
intimate,  did  not  imply  a  desire  to  establish  any  sen- 
timental relation  to  herself,  nor  could  she  explain  to 
her  whole  satisfaction  just  why  she  so  vigorously 
thwarted  him.  She  was  only  conscious  of  feeling 
that  to  accept  his  tacit  offer  of  good  fellowship  was 
a  clearly  defined  step  downward,  an  open  throwing 
over  of  standards  which,  if  she  had  endangered 
them  by  her  marriage,  she  had  still  high  hopes  of 

[162] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

maintaining,  and  to  which  she  hoped  ultimately  to 
win  her  husband. 

On  the  whole,  her  thoughts  were  very  sweet  and 
wholesome  as  she  sat  there  in  the  growing  warmth. 
More  than  once  a  sense  of  housekeeping  respon- 
sibility urged  her  to  rise  and  betake  herself  indoors, 
but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  disturb  her  reverie 
till  a  respectful  cough  attracted  her  attention. 

An  old  man  and  a  young  girl,  carrying  a  child  in 
her  arms,  stood  a  few  feet  away.  The  man  was 
dressed  in  spotless  white  trousers  with  a  Chinese 
shirt  of  white  musUn.  One  sleeve  was  decorously 
adorned  with  a  black  mourning  band,  and  his  white 
bamboo  plaited  hat  was  also  wreathed  in  sable. 
The  girl  was  dressed  in  the  deepest  of  FiUpino 
mourning  —  black  calico  skirt,  black  alpaca  tapis, 
or  apron,  and  a  camisa  of  thin  barred  black  net, 
shiny  and  stiff  with  starch.  Through  its  gauzy 
texture  her  white  chemise,  trimmed  with  scarlet  em- 
broidery, showed  garishly,  while  the  imimense 
sleeves  made  no  pretence  of  hiding  her  plump,  gold- 
colored  arms.  Her  face,  of  a  very  Malayasian 
type,  was  decidedly  pretty,  and  the  haughty  colunm 
of  her  neck  and  a  wealth  of  jetty  hair  lent  stiH 
further  charm.     As  she  caught  Charlotte's  eye,  she 

[  153  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

stepped  forward,  throwing  back,  as  she  did  so,  the 
black  veil  which  had  hidden  the  child's  face. 

Charlotte's  first  exclamation  of  surprise  and  pity- 
was  followed  by  an  indignant  flush.  The  child, 
which  was  evidently  dying  of  anaemia,  was  a 
mestizo.  Its  blue  eye,  its  almost  fair  hair  above  a 
pasty  skin  and  something  indefinably  British  in  the 
stamp  of  its  expression  betrayed  its  paternity  at 
once. 

The  man  spoke  neither  Spanish  nor  English,  and 
the  girl  had  only  a  few  phrases  of  each;  but  with 
Charlotte's  command  of  the  vernacular  she  managed 
to  get  a  few  facts  in  some  sort  of  sequence.  For 
brevity  and  to  spare  the  reader  an  elliptical  con- 
versation in  three  languages  they  can  be  set  down 
as  Charlotte  simimed  them  up  afterwards. 

The  man  was  the  child's  grandfather;  the  girl, 
its  aunt.  Its  mother  had  died  a  week  or  so  before 
at  a  village  on  the  Antique  coast.  The  woman  and 
her  people  had  lived  with  Kingsnorth  openly  in  his 
house  up  to  the  morning  of  the  senora  Americana' s 
arrival.  At  that  time  Kingsnorth  had  come  in  in 
great  excitement,  had  bundled  them  all  off  in  short 
order,  and  had  established  them  in  the  coast  village. 

[164] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

As  he  was  their  only  source  of  income,  they  ac- 
cepted his  mandate  without  question. 

But  the  mother  had  died,  of  what  they  could  not 
make  quite  clear,  though  the  girl  pressed  her  hands 
upon  her  heart  and  repeated  ''muy,  muy  triste" 
more  than  once.  After  the  mother's  death,  the 
baby  lacked  nourishment,  though  its  father  gave 
money  to  buy  milk.  They  had  come  over  on  a  fish 
parao  to  show  it  to  its  father,  and  had  received  or- 
ders to  keep  out  of  Mrs.  Collingwood's  way;  but 
hearing  from  the  villagers  of  that  lady's  skill  in 
curing  the  sick  and  of  her  willingness  to  use  it,  they 
could  not  forbear  bringing  the  child  to  her.  But 
with  tears,  they  besought  her  to  keep  the  secret. 
The  old  man  made  a  very  fair  representation  of 
bestowing  a  hearty  kick,  and  the  girl,  weeping, 
ejaculated  "Peg  a,  peg  a  mucho"  many  times. 

Charlotte  had  been  interested  during  her  hospital 
experience  in  a  series  of  experiments  made  by  one 
of  the  surgeons  in  infant-feeding.  The  mortality 
among  Fihpino  children  is  enormous,  and  much  at- 
tention is  given  to  infant  care.  It  happened  that 
she  had  been  trying  the  food  process  on  one  or 
two  babies  in  the  village,  and  it  was  doubtless  the 

[  155  ] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

news  of  that  fact  which  had  induced  the  people  to 
risk  Ejngsnorth's  anger  and  appeal  to  her. 

She  led  them  homeward,  gave  the  child  some 
nourishment,  and  set  to  work  to  show  the  girl  how 
to  prepare  the  canned  milk  for  future  use.  It  was 
not  till  they  had  departed  that  she  realized  that  they 
had  not  said  whether  or  no  the  mother  had  been 
legally  married.  Later  she  decided  that  the  fact 
was  immaterial,  but  she  was  inclined  to  believe  the 
child  illegitimate. 

For  the  next  ten  days  the  girl  presented  her- 
self with  the  child  for  treatment.  She  watched 
carefully  to  see  that  the  fishers  had  gone  each  day, 
and  that  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  was  not  around.  The 
child  thrived,  and  with  returning  health  showed  a 
somewhat  engaging  appearance. 

Charlotte  could  never  be  quite  certain  of  her  rea- 
sons for  keeping  silence  to  her  husband  on  the  sub- 
ject. At  first  undoubtedly  she  desired  to  avoid 
making  trouble  for  the  old  man  and  the  girl;  but 
later,  when  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  had  met  the  girl  face 
to  face  on  Charlotte's  veranda  steps,  and  she  knew 
the  fact  had  been  retailed  to  Maclaughlin  and  to 
the  other  men,  she  was  still  wordless.  For  a  few 
days  the  sullen  demeanor  of  Kingsnorth  showed 

[156] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

that  he  dumbly  resented  her  knowledge;  but  in 
the  end  his  proteges  established  themselves  in  the 
village,  and  when  Charlotte  walked  that  way  she 
often  saw  his  taffy-colored  son,  in  a  single  garment, 
staring  with  incongruous  blue  eyes  from  the  floor 
of  a  nipa  shack. 

What  was  stranger,  even,  than  anything  else, 
Mrs,  Maclaughlin  showed  an  eager  desire  to  avoid 
the  subject.  Charlotte  had  anticipated,  with  some 
dread,  that  the  lady  would  break  forth  garrulously 
once  the  cat  was  out  of  the  bag;  but  she  was  most 
pleasantly  disappointed.  Between  herself  and 
Martin  the  matter  was  never  mentioned.  There 
were  times  when  she  would  have  liked  to  ask  him 
what  he  had  really  expected  her  to  do  before  Kings- 
north  saved  the  situation  by  packing  off  his  im- 
pedimenta; but  she  was  afraid  that,  if  the  subject 
were  ever  opened  up  between  them,  she  would 
express  herself  too  frankly,  and  she  was  too 
thoroughly  happy  with  her  husband  to  care  to  risk 
disturbing  their  satisfaction  in  each  other.  As  time 
went  on,  she  ceased  to  give  the  matter  any  thought 
at  all.  After  all,  she  reflected,  had  she  not  known 
it  all  potentially  the  first  time  she  ever  saw  Kings- 
north?     What  did  the  addition  of  a  few  specific 

[  157  ] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

data  matter?  At  that  time  all  her  will  was  bent 
to  the  determination  to  make  the  best  of  her  ro- 
mance, to  be  happy  at  any  cost,  and  to  postpone  in- 
definitely, 5f  ixot  ultimately,  any  hour  of  settle- 
ment. 


[158] 


w 


CHAPTER  VIII 

<  ^X  X  T^NT  a  paseo,  Charlotte?"  Martin 
called  from  his  deck  chair  on  the 
vine-shaded  veranda  one  Sunday- 
afternoon.  ''It 's  not  so  very  hot.  I  feel  like 
walking  myself." 

Mrs.  CoUingwood,  who  was  dabbing  a  powder 
puff  across  her  face  as  a  finish  to  her  afternoon  toi- 
let, responded  at  once,  from  the  adjoining  bedroom, 
that  she  was  longing  for  a  walk.  In  a  few  minutes, 
she  appeared,  tying  the  strings  of  a  great  sun  hat, 
and  handed  her  umbrella  to  Martin. 

''Have  I  got  to  lug  this  thing?"  he  groaned;  but 
even  as  he  spoke,  he  opened  it  and  held  it  tenderly 
over  her. 

Kingsnorth,  smoking  on  his  own  veranda,  nodded 
and  asked  them  where  they  were  going. 

"Most  anywhere.  Up  the  hill,  probably.  Char- 
lotte hkes  to  go  there.     Will  you  come  along?" 

Mrs.  Collingwood  did  not  second  the  invitation, 
though  she  had  time  to  do  so  before  Kingsnorth 

[159] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

replied.  "I  'm  too  lazy.  I  'U  leave  hill-climbing 
to  you  adventurous  young  persons."  To  himself 
he  added,  **You  don't  want  me.  You  want  to  go 
up  there  and  spoon.  Oh,  Lord!  to  be  young 
again!"  He  did  not  add,  *'and  to  love  and  be 
loved" ;  but  the  words  were  bitter  in  his  thoughts  as 
he  watched  the  young  couple  go  along  the  clean 
beach. 

When  they  came  to  a  path  leading  across  the 
cocoanut  grove  to  a  spur  of  hill  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  island,  they  took  it,  followed  it  through  the 
shadowed  green  arcades,  climbed  a  rather  stiff  hill, 
and,  at  length,  found  themselves  in  the  shade  of 
a  bamboo  clump  at  the  head  of  a  cleft  filled  with 
undergrowth.  An  outcropping  of  rock  made  a 
sort  of  natural  seat  for  Charlotte,  and  Collingwood 
stretched  himself  at  her  feet.  On  the  ridge  above 
them  a  line  of  cocoanut  trees  drooped  their  great 
leaves,  while  over  their  heads  the  long  bamboo  stems 
swayed  to  every  breath  of  air.  Although  the  ele- 
vation was  low  —  not  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  feet 
above  the  water  —  it  gave  the  loungers  an  extended 
view.  The  sea  rolled  in  long  swells  of  deepest  sap- 
phire. Far  away  to  the  north,  the  great  plateau 
mountain  of  Tablas  was  a  violet  shadow  in  the 

[160] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

sky;  but  on  the  east  the  insistent  sun  searched  out 
every  ravine  and  spur  of  the  Antique  coast  range. 
From  that  grim  mountain  king  which  lords  it  over 
them  on  the  north  to  the  far  distance  of  the  south 
their  weathered  sides  lay  outlined  in  long  lines  of 
pink  and  mauve,  and  in  great  patches  of  smoky- 
blue,  where  cloud  shadows  lay  soft  upon  them. 
Here  and  there  a  distant  sail  gleamed,  a  mere  speck 
of  pearl  against  the  lustre  of  sea  and  sky,  and,  in 
the  north,  a  steamer's  smudge  was  plainly  visible, 
though  the  vessel  was  hull  down. 

"May  be  a  tramp  freighter  going  north,  which 
slipped  through  the  channel  without  our  noticing 
her,"  said  Martin.  "This  is  not  the  time  for  the 
Puerta  Princesa  steamer."  Boats  were  always  a 
source  of  conversation  at  the  island.  They  were 
charged  with  almost  a  romantic  significance,  coming 
and  going,  ever  the  mute  reminders  that,  beyond 
the  shining  horizon  line,  people  still  lived  and  toiled, 
still  built  and  populated  the  great  cities  of  which 
Martin  loved  to  speak. 

"I  can't  see  a  line  of  smoke  without  a  pang  of 
homesickness,"  he  said.  "Let 's  see.  We  are  thir- 
teen hours  ahead  of  Chicago  time.  It  is  now  about 
four  o'clock;  it 's  quiet  enough  in  those  empty 
11  [  161  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

streets  now.  But  about  the  time  we  were  eating 
lunch,  the  theatres  were  just  emptying.  I  can  see 
the  carriages  drive  up,  and  the  women  with  their 
beautiful  dresses  showing  under  their  opera  cloaks ; 
and  the  other  kind,  the  kind  that  don't  go  in  car- 
riages, hurrying  off  to  catch  a  car,  buttoning  up 
their  jackets  as  they  come  out  into  the  cool  —  it's 
just  frosty  weather  there  now  —  and  the  lights  in 
the  big  restaurants,  and  the  lamps  flashing  on  car- 
riages and  automobiles.  Meanwhile,  we  are  here 
frizzling,  and  here  we  bid  fair  to  stay  till  we  make 
money  enough  to  go  home  in  style.  I  shall  take 
you  to  the  theatre  some  time  that  way,  Charlotte. 
You  '11  be  in  a  low-necked  dress  with  diamonds  — 
do  you  think  you  'U  like  diamonds?  —  and  you  shall 
have  one  of  those  long  coats  with  the  hoods,  and 
I  '11  be  in  my  swallow-tail.  We  '11  spin  up  in  an 
electric  brougham,  and  rustle  into  our  box.  Then, 
after  the  performance,  we'll  have  a  supper,  and 
then  I  '11  say  "Home"  kind  of  careless  to  the  chauf- 
feur.    How  does  that  strike  your  imagination?" 

He  lay  at  her  feet,  smiling,  and  Charlotte  hardly 
knew  what  to  reply.  How  could  she  say  to  him 
that  the  experience  on  which  his  whole  imagina- 
tion had  fastened  was  a  matter  of  fact  detail  of 

[162] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

her  past?  She  had  rarely  entered  a  theatre  ex- 
cept under  the  circumstances  which  had  made  it  a 
picture  of  delight  to  him.  She  did  not  deny  that 
it  would  be  pleasant  to  go  again,  and  she  did  not, 
for  an  instant,  underrate  the  pleasure  which  comes 
of  knowing  oneself  among  the  envied  few.  But 
how  could  she  take  from  him  the  pleasure  of  an- 
ticipating for  her  as  well  as  for  himself?  Indeed, 
would  not  it  make  a  perceptible  rift  in  his  present 
joy  if  he  knew  that  his  innocent  outburst  could  find 
no  echo  in  her  breast?  Would  he  not  feel  a  little 
ridiculous?  And  how  uncomfortable  it  was  that 
that  coil  of  misunderstanding  always  was  most  per- 
ceptible at  Martin's  most  exalted  moments  1  Why 
had  he  chosen  to  assume  that  she  was  a  stranger  to 
luxury,  and  why  had  her  good  taste  so  resolutely 
declined  to  give  him  even  a  hint,  until  suddenly  she 
found  herself  in  a  position  where  a  hint  would  seem 
like  an  insult?  She  would  have  liked  to  tell  him, 
then  and  there,  a  string  of  reminiscences,  and  to 
share  half  a  hundred  memories  with  him,  but  it 
was  too  late.  To  say  anything  then  would  be  to 
pour  cold  water  by  the  bucket  over  his  enthusiasms. 
What  she  did  say  was: 

"I  shall  enjoy  that  immensely  if  it  ever  comes; 
[163] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

but  until  it  does  come,  I  want  you  to  understand 
that  I  am  not  discontented  with  our  life  here;  and 
that  if  it  never  comes,  I  shall  not  let  myself  repine 
over  it." 

*'Thank  God  for  that,"  he  replied  earnestly. 
And  as  she  smiled  at  him  faintly,  puzzled  by  his 
emphasis,  he  added,  "I  took  my  chances  when  I 
brought  you  here,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  you  are 
an  unusual  woman  to  have  stood  it  as  you  have  done. 
The  queer  part  of  it  is  that  I  knew  what  risks 
I  was  taking,  but  until  it  was  too  late  to  back  out, 
I  could  n't  own  them  to  myself.  One  of  the  rea- 
sons that  I  wanted  you  so  badly  was  that  I  hated 
it  so  here,  and  it  was  so  all-fired  lonely.  But  I 
kept  on  saying  to  myself  that  it  would  n't  be  lonely 
for  you  because  I  would  be  here." 

*'Well,"  she  conceded,  willing  to  gloss  over  the 
selfishness  of  which  he  stood  ready  to  accuse  him- 
self, "so  long  as  you  are  willing  to  believe  that  you 
would  not  be  lonely  because  I  would  be  here,  that 
seems  a  fair  exchange." 

"No,  it  was  n't  fair  at  any  point,  because  I  knew 
exactly  what  the  place  was  like  and  you  were  go- 
ing into  it  blindfold.  But  a  man  can't  stop  to 
look  at  things  that  way.     If  we  did,  nobody  would 

[164] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

ever  get  anything  in  the  world  that  he  wanted. 
My  mother  used  to  say  to  me  that  God  helps  those 
who  help  themselves.  I  Ve  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  He  does  n't  do  anything  of  the  kind,  but  that 
He  sits  back  and  does  n't  interfere  with  those  who 
take." 

After  this  burst  of  unusual  eloquence,  Mr.  Col- 
lingwood  closed  his  eyes  and  puffed  luxuriously  at 
his  cigar.  But  for  the  rhythm  of  the  surf,  nature 
seemed  steeped  in  afternoon  slumber.  In  the  ac- 
centuated silence  the  voices  of  children  digging 
clams  far  up  the  beach  came  to  them  like  drowsy 
music. 

CoUingwood  smoked  on,  content  with  his  own 
analysis  of  his  conduct  and  delighting  in  his  wife's 
soft  hand  on  his  brow.  Charlotte  thought  he  was 
going  to  sleep,  and  smiled  tenderly  at  his  closed 
eyes.  Martin  not  infrequently  displayed  his  en- 
joyment of  her  society  by  a  willingness  to  nap  in 
it;  but  she  was  not  petty  enough  to  grudge  him 
the  indulgence.  Besides,  many  of  her  tenderest 
thoughts,  her  best  inspirations  had  come  to  her  as 
she  mused,  on  lazy  afternoons,  with  his  handsome 
profile  in  her  lap.  There  seemed,  at  such  times, 
to  be  a  reversal  of  their  ordinary  relations.     She 

[165] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

leaned  tremendously  on  Martin,  not  by  making  him 
a  sharer  in  her  domestic  difficulties  or  by  weary- 
ing him,  already  weary  with  toil,  by  that  demand  for 
petty  services  by  which  some  women  delight  to 
vaunt  their  possession  of  a  slave.  As  far  as  she 
could  be  a  buffer  between  him  and  all  the  little 
cares  and  burdens  of  their  daily  life,  Charlotte  had 
kept  her  promise  to  herself  to  make  Martin  Col- 
lingwood  a  good  wife.  And  though  she  measured 
his  hourly  joy  in  the  pride  of  having  her  undivided 
affection,  she  felt  herself  meanly  stinting  him  of 
that  secret  hoard  of  gratitude  which  lay  so  warm 
in  her  heart.  Was  he  fairly  treated,  she  asked 
herself,  in  being  denied  the  knowledge  that  he 
alone  of  all  the  world  had  made  her  feel  herself 
welcome  in  it?  He  thought  her  strong,  when,  in 
reality,  all  her  strength  came  from  him.  Deprived 
of  that  crown  and  sceptre  with  which  he  had  en- 
dowed her,  would  she  be  more  than  a  poor  shrinking 
outcast  again,  a  creature  at  bay,  ready  to  snap 
without  discrimination  at  passing  curiosity  or  at 
passing  kindness.  But  pride  was  still  strong  in  her 
heart  —  love  had  not  subdued  that ;  and  there  were 
some  explanations  that  she  could  not  force  herself 
to  make.     When  he  lay  supine,  as  on  that  af ter- 

[166] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

noon,  his  pagan  beauty  even  more  markedly  de- 
fined by  a  slumber  that  was  like  a  child's,  she  had 
an  intuition  of  his  unexpressed  dependence  on  her. 
Was  it  possible  that  Martin  had  reservations  also? 
The  thought  bred  another.  Is  it  possible  for  any 
soul  to  unbosom  itself  completely  to  another? 
Does  not  the  very  wealth  of  confidence  entrain  some 
final  reservations,  the  inner  sanctuary  of  that  self- 
dignity  with  which  the  gentlest  spirit  is  reluctant  to 
part  ?  She  decided  that,  freely  as  he  revealed  him- 
self to  her,  Martin  must  carry  deep  in  his  heart,  some 
feelings  jealously  guarded  from  her  —  thoughts 
and  feelings  perhaps  that  he  had  recklessly  re- 
vealed to  the  young  girls  who  at  times  had  fired  his 
imagination.  It  is  the  instinct  of  the  human  soul 
to  guard  those  weaknesses  of  which  it  is  self-con- 
scious from  those  natures  which  cannot  understand 
them,  and,  not  understanding,  cannot  sympathize. 
Of  what  weakness  did  she  make  Martin  self-con- 
scious? She  knew  only  too  well  the  weaknesses  of 
which  he  made  her  self-conscious;  knew,  too,  her 
desperate  fear  that  full  cognizance  of  them  might 
shake  the  foundations  of  his  pride  in  her.  They 
had  been  married  eight  months,  and  in  that  time 
they  had  hardly  touched  a  jar  in  their  lives.     He 

[  167  ] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

had  told  her  a  thousand  times  that  she  was  all  the 
world  to  him,  and  she  had  replied  a  thousand  times 
that  she  asked  nothing  more,  and  that,  so  long  as 
she  could  be  that,  she  was  willing  to  bear  solitude, 
and  endure  even  privation.  Was  all  her  happiness 
hinged  upon  the  chance  dropping  of  a  curtain  in 
his  speech  or  hers?  upon  the  revelation  of  another 
self  hidden  away  behind  his  merriment,  behind  her 
silence?  She  sighed  and  moved  impatiently,  try- 
ing to  shake  off  her  thoughts.  Then  she  remem- 
bered that  he  was  sleeping  and  glanced  down  to 
find  him  gazing  at  her  quizzically. 

*'I  Ve  been  awake  all  the  while,"  he  said,  "watch- 
ing your  face.  You  have  been  doing  a  sight  of 
thinking  all  to  yourself.  You  thought  I  had 
dropped  off,  didn't  you?" 

"I  Ve  had  reason  'to  believe  you  capable  of  it, 
Martin." 

*'What  I  have  done  and  what  I  am  going  to  do 
this  afternoon  are  two  distinct  things,  Mrs.  C." 

"Oh,  Martin,  I  hate  'Mrs.  C  It  sounds  like 
Dickens." 

"Do  you  mean  the  dickens?" 

"No:  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  '11  use  the  other  word 
—  the  one  you  are  so  fond  of  using." 

[168] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Mr.  Collingwood  almost  sat  up.  "Say,  you  're 
coming  on,"  he  ejaculated.  "You  'd  never  have 
said  that  when  we  were  first  married." 

"That's  true."  Mrs.  CoUingwood's  tone  left 
open  an  inference  which  her  husband  must  have 
perceived,  for  he  laughed  contentedly. 

"You  were  mealy-mouthed,"  he  stated,  with  a 
genial  retrospect  in  his  voice. 

Charlotte  looked  at  him  demurely.  "I  was 
brought  up  to  observe  the  conventional  limitations 
of  feminine  speech,  dear;  but  if  your  heart  is  set 
upon  my  enlarging  upon  them  — " 

"Heaven  forbid  I"  Martin  ejaculated  piously,  as 
she  came  to  her  suggestive  httle  pause.  He  added 
after  a  moment,  "But  I  had  a  girl  once  that  used 
to  swear.  It  never  sounded  bad  in  her.  It  was 
just  funny  and  cute." 

If  there  was  one  habit  of  Martin  CoUingwood's 
that  came  near  rousing  a  visible  resentment  in  his 
wife,  it  was  his  easy-going  references  to  his  "girls." 
She  knew  that  the  term,  as  he  used  it,  implied  no 
disrespect,  that  it  was  his  equivalent  for  innamorata, 
and  that  each  affair  with  a  girl  had  represented 
one  of  his  tentative  ventures  toward  matrimony. 
She  was  not  jealous  of  her  predecessors  in  his  af- 

[  169  ] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

fections,  for  there  was  an  overwhelming  sincerity 
in  his  invariable  reassurance  that  none  of  them 
"came  up  to  specifications";  that  is,  conformed  to 
his  ideal  of  womanhood,  as  she  herself  did.  Nor 
did  he  hesitate  to  reveal  that,  in  most  cases,  the 
breaking  of  sentimental  ties  was  largely  the  re- 
sult of  his  own  initiative.  If  his  frankness  in  these 
revelations  had  contained  one  element  of  personal 
vanity,  it  would  have  strained  dangerously  his 
wife's  respect  for  him.  But  although  he  had  a 
happy  self-confidence,  CoUingwood  was  utterly 
without  self-conscious  vanity.  Charlotte  realized, 
also,  that  his  good  looks  and  his  personal  charm 
which  she,  with  her  critically  developed  faculties, 
had  been  unable  to  withstand,  must  have  made  him 
an  exceedingly  popular  swain  with  the  type  of 
young  woman  whom  he  had  previously  affected. 
But  it  was  irritating  to  have  him  lump  her  with 
them  so  carelessly.  It  implied  that,  though  she 
was  the  only  perfect  jewel  according  to  his  taste, 
the  matter  was,  after  all,  one  of  taste  and  not  of 
kind.  She  was  human  enough,  however,  to  suffer 
some  pangs  of  curiosity  concerning  her  erstwhile 
rivals,  and  though  she  would  not  have  asked  a  ques- 

[170] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

tion,  she  was  not  dissatisfied  when  Martin  went 
on: 

"It 's  funny  what  differences  there  are  in  peo- 
ple. You  are  not  glum,  but  you  don't  laugh  much. 
Even  when  you  seem  happiest,  you  are  rather  grave 
and  quiet.  But  that  girl  giggled  from  morning 
till  night,  and  she  made  me  laugh  too.  She  saw 
the  funny  side  of  everything  that  happened,  and 
she  was  no  fool  either.  She  was  quick  as  a  flash. 
The  last  time  I  saw  her  was  at  the  close  of  the 
Spanish  War.  It  was  about  ten  days  before  I  en- 
listed. The  Government  sent  a  gunboat  up  the 
Mississippi  River  just  to  show  the  backwoods  peo- 
ple what  a  real  live  gunboat  that  had  been  in  the 
war  looked  like;  and  those  blamed  ofiicers  were 
making  love  to  every  pretty  girl  on  both  banks 
of  the  river  wherever  the  boat  lay  long  enough  to 
have  a  reception  for  the  officers  or  a  smoker  for  the 
men.  This  girl  was  dancing  with  a  sandy-haired 
little  ensign,  and  he  was  piling  it  on  thick  as  mo- 
lasses on  a  hot  cake.  All  of  a  sudden,  she  began 
to  giggle.  He  wanted  to  know  why.  "I  '11  bet 
a  horse  you  're  married,"  she  said  over  his  shoul- 
der; and  the  fellow,  like  to  split  himself  laughing, 

[171] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

vowed  he  was  n't.  But  when  he  got  to  St.  Louis, 
there  it  was  in  the  papers,  how  his  wife  had  come 
out  to  join  him  for  that  week.  When  his  boat 
went  back  down  the  river  the  next  week,  all  the 
girls  gave  him  the  laugh.  That  little  devil  had 
told  it  on  him,  and  all  the  talk  he  had  given  her." 

"I  like  that  girl,"  said  Charlotte.  "What  be- 
came of  her?  How  did  it  happen  that  you  did  n't 
make  the  best  of  your  opportunities  in  her  case?" 

"I  did.  She  had  me  mighty  anxious.  But  she 
played  just  a  little  too  bluff  a  game.  She  got  hold 
of  a  long-legged  sergeant  of  volunteers  and  she 
let  on  that  she  did  n't  have  a  minute  to  give  me  after 
he  came  along,  I  used  to  walk  home  from  church 
with  her  pretty  regularly,  but  the  first  Sunday  after 
she  picked  up  with  him,  she  turned  me  down.  I 
had  to  come  along  behind  with  her  best  friend: 
she  was  one  of  those  girls  that  always  have  neg- 
lected women  friends  and  run  'em  in  and  make  you 
be  civil  to  'em.  I  hated  this  other  girl,  and  I  was 
the  maddest  man  that  ever  tagged  up  the  street 
after  his  girl  and  another  man.  All  of  a  sudden, 
I  saw  that  every  time  she  took  a  step,  she  turned 
the  hem  of  her  skirt  with  her  heel.  You  know  I 
just  came  to  myself.     I  got  to  wondering  if  I 

[172] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

wanted  to  marry  a  girl  with  a  jay-bird  heel  like 
that,  and  I  decided  I  did  n't.  I  enlisted,  came  out 
here,  served  my  country  in  China,  and  took  back 
talk  from  a  lot  of  West  Point  popinjays  for  two 
years  —  damn  their  souls  —  and  that  was  all  the 
patriotism  I  had.  She  married  her  volunteer  and 
he  served  his  three  years  and  got  a  commission.  I 
saw  by  a  paper  not  very  long  ago  that  they  are 
in  Samar  now.  She  was  a  good  fellow,  that  girl. 
I  should  like  to  see  her  again.  If  the  fool  killer 
tried  to  kill  her,  the  gun  would  n't  go  off,  sure." 

"That  is  quite  so,"  Charlotte  replied  gravely, 
and  then,  as  Martin  relapsed  into  laziness  again, 
she  remained  studying  him  and  pondering  the  some- 
what irrelevant  motives  which  had  influenced  his 
life. 

"A  jay-bird  heel!"  She  looked  with  amused 
scrutiny  at  his  somewhat  emphasized  mascuhne 
beauty.  What  magnificence,  what  unconscious  ar- 
rogance of  self-esteem  lay  unrebuked  in  this  inno- 
cent youth;  for  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
known  sin  as  she  had  never  known  it,  that  his  un- 
restrained instincts  had  reached  forth  into  experi- 
ments with  life  from  which  not  only  her  sex,  but  the 
inheritance  of  tradition  and  of  environment  had 

[173] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

eternally  debarred  her  —  in  spite  of  these  facts, 
Charlotte  had  always  a  sense  of  cynical  and  satiated 
age  beside  his  debonair  innocence.  It  had  been  her 
lot  to  be  both  player  and  onlooker  in  that  melo- 
drama where  the  possession  of  ample  means  and 
the  development  of  critical  and  aesthetic  faculties 
have  frowned  upon  the  expression  of  a  direct  and 
creative  ambition;  and  yet,  where  all  that  is  subtly 
ambitious,  and  all  that  is  meanly  jealous,  and  all  that 
is  secretly  arrogant,  deprived  of  a  natural  and 
healthy  expression,  underlie  and  taint  the  whole 
body  of  society.  She  had  come  to  realize  that,  in 
that  world  in  which  money  must  not  be  mentioned, 
money  is  the  most  indispensable  necessity ;  that  every 
instinct  tabooed  as  vulgar  has  been  so  tabooed,  be- 
cause, when  it  is  no  longer  recognized  in  speech, 
it  may  be  the  more  successfully  pursued  in  action. 
She  had  discovered  that  the  exquisite  charm  of  man- 
ner which  is  called  high-bred  unconsciousness  is  the 
result  of  a  self -consciousness  so  unflagging  that  its 
possessor  is  incapable  of  losing  herself  utterly  in  any 
emotion ;  and  that  the  final  result  of  the  developing 
process  is  an  individuahty  whose  utter  selfishness 
and  nullity  are  not  patent  simply  because  all  the 
arts  of  society  and  all  the  material  advantages  of 

[174] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

wealth  are  bent  to  the  conceahnent  of  the  truth. 
Collingwood  was,  as  he  had  said  of  his  sweetheart, 
"no  fool."  He  had  a  keen  interest  in  life,  a  rather 
broad  knowledge  of  men  and  affairs  as  they  are 
judged  by  concrete  results;  but  of  that  sense  of 
social  values  which  amounts  almost  to  a  cult  with 
our  so-called  aristocratic  classes,  Martin  was  as 
ignorant  as  his  primeval  parents  were  of  sin.  Sud- 
denly, as  she  looked  at  him,  a  quotation  flashed  into 
Charlotte's  mind.  She  formed  the  words  with  her 
lips  as  her  memory  groped  for  them: 

The  ancients  set  no  value  on  that  half  feminine  deli- 
cacy, that  nervous  sensibility  which  we  call  distinction,  and 
on  which  we  pride  ourselves.  For  the  distingue  man  of 
the  present  day,  a  salon  is  necessary ;  he  is  a  dilettante  and 
entertaining  with  ladies ;  although  capable  of  enthusiasms, 
he  is  inclined  to  scepticism;  his  politeness  is  exquisite;  he 
dislikes  foul  hands  and  disagreeable  odors,  and  shrinks 
from  being  confounded  with  the  vulgar.  Alcibiades  had 
no  apprehension  of  being  confounded  with  the  vulgar. 

Martin  opened  his  eyes  as  she  was  breathing  the 
words  to  herself,  but  she  did  not  stop.  He  stared 
at  her,  and  when  she  paused,  he  asked : 

"What  kind  of  hoodoo  was  that?" 

"That,  O  my  Alcibiades,  was  a  charm."  She 
[175] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

leaned  forward  and  kissed  him  —  a  "half  repentant, 
wholly  tender  little  caress.  It  pleased  him,  for 
while  she  was  ready  enough  to  be  petted,  Char- 
lotte was  slow  to  offer  endearments.  Lifelong 
habit  was  stronger  even  than  the  impulses  of  a 
naturally  demonstrative  nature, 

"Who  are  you  hoodooing?    Me?" 

"No:  myself.     It  was  I  that  needed  the  charm." 

"Now  you  are  getting  mysterious  again.  Tell 
me  what  it  was  about."  Collingwood  had,  when 
he  desired  to  wheedle,  not  only  a  child's  persistency 
but  a  child's  alluringness.  Charlotte  had  had  ex- 
perience in  plenty  with  him,  and  knew  her  own 
weakness  in  resisting  him.  She  cast  a  hasty  glance 
around  and  perceived  the  steamer,  the  smoke  of 
which  had  been  visible  when  they  gained  the  hill. 
They  had,  in  seating  themselves,  half  turned  their 
backs  in  her  direction,  and  she  had  crept  very  close 
to  the  island. 

"Martin,  that  boat  seems  to  be  coming  nearer. 
She  would  not  come  this  close  if  she  were  heading 
for  Cuyo." 

"Eh!  Here?"  Collingwood  raised  himself  a- 
lertly  and  stared.  "That 's  strange.  Coastguard. 
She  is  n't  making  Iloilo,  or  she  would  not  be  cut- 

[176] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

ting  across  our  bows;  but  it  is  a  queer  route  for 
Cuyo.  Why  did  n't  she  cut  over  to  the  west  after 
leaving  Romblon?" 

"You  11  have  to  signal  her  for  information,  Mar- 
tin." 

"Information  be  blanked.  I  '11  signal  her  for 
fresh  beef  if  she  gets  close  enough.  We  may  be 
able  to  exchange  a  bit  of  fish.  Have  you  seen  the 
fish  parao  go  in  yet?" 

"It  went  by  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"That 's  good.  Maybe  we  had  better  go  down 
and  be  ready  to  trade  if  she  comes  near  enough. 
I  '11  send  out  a  note  with  the  launch.  It  looks, 
though,  as  if  she  were  heading  straight  for  us." 

"Would  a  coastguard  steamer  drop  mail  here?" 

"No:  catch  a  Government  captain  dropping  an 
anchor  to  oblige  anybody.  If  she  is  coming  in, 
it  is  either  with  somebody  interested  in  pearl  fish- 
ery statistics,  or  some  sort  of  survey,  or — "  he 
turned  suddenly,  a  teasing  smile  melting  all  his 
handsome  features  to  winningness — "your  friend 
Barton.     Didn't  he  promise  us  a  visit  sometime?" 

Martin  had  assumed  a  marital  jocularity  on  the 

subject  of  the  Judge.     Charlotte  had  honestly  but 

vainly  tried  to  dispel  from  his  mind  his  strong  con- 
12  [  177  ■] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

viction  that  Judge  Barton  was  a  rival  who  had 
hardly  been  allowed  to  approach  the  tentative  stages 
of  worship.  Her  quick  frown  and  "Impossible!" 
only  made  her  husband  grin  more  broadly.  **That 
was  a  mere  civility  at  parting,"  she  insisted. 
"Judge  Barton  hasn't  a  particle  of  interest  in 
us." 

"He  hasn't  any  in  me,  certainly;  and  he  would 
be  justified  in  not  having  any  in  you.  Snapped 
his  nose  off,  you  did,  every  time  he  opened  his 
mouth." 

"Martin,  you  do  not  understand.  I  tried  my 
best  to  be  agreeable  to  Judge  Barton,  just  as  any 
nurse  ought  to  be  to  any  patient;  and  every  time 
I  'snapped  his  nose  off'  as  you  express  it,  I  did 
it  in  self-defence.  He  was  very  often  impertinent 
to  me." 

"Why  Charlotte,  I  heard  pretty  near  every  word 
he  ever  said  to  you,  and  I  never  heard  anything  out 
of  the  way." 

They  were  going  down  hill  by  that  time,  Martin 
ahead,  picking  the  trail;  and  Charlotte  made  a 
quaintly  affectionate  grimace  behind  his  sturdy 
back.  There  were  various  reasons  why  she  was  un- 
willing to  make  any  effort  to  enlighten  Martin's 

[178] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

denseness.  There  was  no  earthly  danger  of  his  ap- 
preciating unaided  the  deUeate  flavor  of  Judge  Bar- 
ton's impertinence. 

"Anyway,"  she  remarked,  deftly  slipping  from 
the  discussion  of  facts  upon  which  disagreement 
was  certain,  "he  will  have  forgotten  both  of  us 
completely  by  this  time,  and  there  is  not  one  chance 
in  a  hundred  of  his  being  on  that  boat  if  it  does 
stop  here."  But  Martin  had  time  to  correct  her. 
He  was  willing  to  admit  that  there  was  not  much 
certainty  of  the  Judge's  being  on  the  boat  unless 
she  stopped;  and  then  he  stood  ready  to  back  his 
judgment.  By  the  time  they  had  crossed  the  cocoa- 
nut  grove  and  had  gained  the  beach,  it  was  evident 
that  the  boat  was  making  for  the  island.  Kings- 
north  had  sighted  her,  and  had  sent  out  the  launch, 
which  was  puffing  busily  toward  her.  "Kings- 
north  's  got  as  good  a  nose  for  fresh  beef  as  I  have," 
CoUingwood  grunted  approvingly.  The  Mac- 
laughlins  were  on  their  veranda  with  a  pair  of 
binoculars,  and  some  excitement  could  be  perceived 
even  in  the  distant  village. 

The  steamer  slowed  up  in  reply  to  signals  from 
the  launch,  and  evidently  awaited  advice  about 
dropping  anchor.     When  she  did  come  to  a  halt, 

[179] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

however,  and  put  a  boat  out,  Martin  counted  the 
persons  who  descended  into  it. 

"Distinguished  passengers,"  he  remarked  con- 
cisely. "The  captain  would  not  put  out  the  gang- 
way for  his  own  use  in  that  sea.  Three  men  in 
white  suits;  three  rowers;  and  the  skipper  is  com- 
ing along.  We  're  in  for  visitors,  Charlotte. 
What  is  there  for  dinner?" 

Charlotte  was  away  on  the  instant.  He  heard 
her  despatching  boys  —  one  to  the  village,  bidding 
him  secure  the  very  best  of  the  afternoon's  catch; 
another  to  the  poultry  yard  with  orders  to  bring 
up  the  two  fattest  capons,  but  not  to  slay  them  till 
further  orders.  Complaining  shrieks  of  the  store- 
room door,  the  hinges  of  which  were  exceedingly 
rusty,  bore  testimony  to  repeated  openings ;  and  the 
voice  of  old  Pedro  was  audible,  cursing  the  ice- 
machine. 

By  the  time  the  boat  was  close  in,  the  sun  was 
fairly  low  and  seemed  to  be  sucking  up  the  whole 
Visaya  Sea  in  shafts  of  splendor.  As  soon  as  the 
narrowing  distance  permitted  the  little  craft's  pas- 
sengers to  be  recognized,  CoUingwood  cocked  a 
humorous  eye  upon  his  wife  and  went  into  silent 
ecstasies  of  laughter,  much  to  the  amazement  of 

[180] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Kingsnorth  and  the  Maclaughlins.  Charlotte 
blushed,  bit  her  lips  and  then  she  laughed  also,  at 
first  in  helpless  embarrassment,  and  finally  with  a 
sheer  burst  of  merriment.  She  had  barely  time  to 
recover  her  gravity  when  the  boat  grounded,  and 
Judge  Barton,  as  an  acquaintance,  took  precedence 
of  his  fellow-passengers,  and  was  carried  ashore  in 
time  to  introduce  them  as  they  landed.  All  had  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  primitive  transporting 
process  by  which  Charlotte  herself  had  made  her 
landing,  and  it  was  in  no  hateful  spirit  that  she  ad- 
mitted that  dignity  and  such  a  progress  are  almost 
incompatible. 


[181] 


T 


CHAPTER  IX 

*  *^  I  ^  HIS  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Collingwood,  giving  to 
Judge  Barton  a  warm  pressure  of  the 
hand.  For  though  she  was  proud  and  sensitive,  she 
was  not  vindictive,  and  the  Judge's  conduct  on  her 
wedding  day  had  gone  far  to  blot  out  the  recollec- 
tion of  their  unamicable  past.  Also  his  presence 
was  a  compliment,  an  assurance  that  his  professions 
of  interest  were  not  wholly  perfunctory. 

"It  should  not  be  so,"  he  replied.  "What  did  I 
tell  you  on  your  wedding  day?  You  've  forgot- 
ten. I  haven't,  you  see,  and  here  I  am!  More- 
over, I  have  brought  you  a  commissioner  and  a 
gentleman  interested  in  pearl  shells."  By  the  time 
he  had  finished  this  long  speech,  the  Judge  had 
shaken  hands  with  both  husband  and  wife,  and 
stood  ready  to  introduce  the  men  who  followed  him. 
They  were  respectively  a  member  of  the  Philip- 
pine Commission  and  an  American  agent  for  a 
button  factory  in  the  United  States,  who  was  de- 

[  182  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

sirous  of  making  arrangements  for  a  permanent 
supply  of  shells. 

"The  Commissioner  is  headed  for  Cuyo,  and  will 
go  on  there  to-morrow,"  said  Judge  Barton.  "Mr. 
Jones  would  like  to  stay  and  see  the  field  and  talk 
business  with  Mr.  Collingwood  until  the  steamer 
returns,  in  about  a  week;  and  I  have  wondered  if 
you  could  put  up  with  me  that  long  also.  But  no- 
body is  to  be  inconvenienced.  Knowing  the  limited 
resources  of  islands  in  the  Visaya  Sea,  each  of  us 
has  come  provided  with  an  army  cot  and  bedding, 
and  we  have  also  a  first-class  shelter  tent.  Like- 
wise, remembering  Mr.  Collingwood's  reminis- 
cences in  hospital,  and  being  minded  of  the  scarcity 
of  fresh  beef,  I  ventured  to  bring  along  the  quarter 
of  a  cow  —  I  believe  a  part  of  the  hind  quarter." 

He  got  no  further.  Martin  had  again  taken  his 
hand  between  two  bronzed  paws  and  was  shaking  it 
fervently. 

"I  understand.  Judge,"  he  declared,  "just  why 
you  hold  your  eminent  position.  A  man  can't  be 
great  these  days  without  a  head  for  detail,  and  you 
have  one.  There  are  plenty  of  men  who  would 
have  forgotten  all  I  said  about  this  place,  but  you 
haven't.     You  remembered  it  at  the  right  time. 

[183] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Now,  frankly,  Judge,  where  is  that  beef  at  the  pres- 
ent moment?" 

The  Judge  hooked  a  thumb  in  the  direction  of 
the  steamer's  boat.  "That  beef  is  in  that  dinghey," 
he  replied,  "and,  without  desiring  to  advise  Mrs. 
Collingwood  in  her  domestic  arrangements,  I 
should  suggest  that  the  sooner  it  is  eaten  the  better. 
The  steamer's  ice-carrjdng  facilities  are  limited, 
and  it  is  by  the  grace  of  God  that  it  has  *kept'  till 
now." 

"He  means  by  the  grace  of  Government  coal, 
Mrs.  Collingwood,"  interrupted  the  steamer's  cap- 
tain, who  was  standing  by  talking  to  Kingsnorth, 
whom  he  knew.  "I  had  nearly  to  ruin  my  engines 
getting  that  beef  down  here,  the  Judge  was  so  con- 
cerned about  it."  It  came  ashore  at  that  minute, 
a  suggestively  dead  piece  of  beef  in  cheese-cloth 
wrappings,  but  the  fishers  received  it  almost  with 
rites  of  welcome. 

Kingsnorth  and  the  Maclaughlins  having  been 
presented,  the  group  wandered  leisurely  toward  the 
Collingwood  cottage.  The  newcomers  protested 
that  there  was  no  need  of  Mrs.  Collingwood's  giv- 
ing herself  trouble  about  dinner ;  they  could  go  back 
to  the  steamer  for  dinner;  it  would  be  waiting  for 

[184] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

them.  It  was  the  stereotyped  convention  through- 
out a  land  where  hospitahty  is  as  catholic  as  is  the 
necessity  for  it.  Martin  and  Charlotte,  naturally, 
would  hear  nothing  of  the  visitors'  returning  to  the 
steamer  before  bedtime. 

"If  you  don't  mind  dinner's  being  a  little  late," 
Charlotte  added,  while  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  threw  in, 
in  response  to  a  last  weak  protest,  "Trouble!  Why 
we  would  cook  for  twenty  people  to  get  to  talk  to 
one." 

So  the  boat  went  back  for  the  tent,  the  cots,  and 
the  luggage  of  the  prospective  guests,  while  the 
visitors  sat  on  Charlotte's  veranda,  enjoying  the 
evening  breeze  and  the  sunset,  as  they  drank  tea 
and  consumed  delicious  little  triangles  of  buttered 
toast,  and  slices  of  sweet  cake.  The  Commissioner 
wanted  to  know  all  about  the  island:  who  owned 
it?  what  crops  did  it  produce?  was  there  an  intelli- 
gent teniente?  "He  obeys  the  orders  that  we  give 
him,"  replied  Martin  dryly,  and  the  Commissioner 
smiled:  Was  there  easy  communication  with  the 
mainland?  What  did  Mr.  CoUingwood  think  of  co- 
prax  in  the  Visayas?  Then,  in  an  aside,  to  Char- 
lotte, What  a  pity  that  he  had  not  brought  Mrs. 
Commissioner !  she  would  have  enjoyed  this.    Such  a 

[185] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

charming  situation  and  such  a  delightful  homel 
Mrs.  Commissioner  would  never  cease  to  regret  hav- 
ing missed  it.  "We  hope  that  you  will  have  oc- 
casion to  pass  again,  and  will  bring  her  with  you," 
Charlotte  murmured  politely,  and  the  great  man 
assured  her  that  he  should  make  a  point  of  it.  "She 
loves  atmosphere,"  he  said.  "We  have  more  of 
that  than  anything  else,"  Eangsnorth  interjected, 
and  to  the  Commissioner's  hearty  laugh,  Martin 
added,  "Specially  when  it  is  moving  N.N.E.  eighty 
miles  an  hour." 

Meanwhile  Judge  Barton  was  trying  out  his 
Grand  Army  manner  with  Mrs.  Maclaughlin,  and 
privately  taking  stock  of  place  and  people. 

"Chickens!"  he  said  regretfully  in  response  to 
her  remark  that  she  guessed  those  chickens  would 
live  a  day  longer  in  view  of  that  quarter  of  beef. 
"Have  I  contributed,  by  my  own  unselfishness,  to 
my  own  undoing?  The  chickens  of  Manila  are  not 
chickens,  they  are  merely  delusions  in  the  form  of 
blood,  bones,  and  feathers,  bought,  killed,  and 
served,  by  a  succession  of  inhuman  Chinese  cooks,^ 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  tantalizing  the  American 
stomach.  Do  I  understand  that  you  feed  your 
chickens,  and  that  they  are  actually  fat?" 

[186] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Fat  as  butter,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  proudly. 

The  Judge  sighed  with  anticipation.  *'I  'm  glad 
I  'm  going  to  stay  a  week,"  he  declared.  "I  'm 
fond  of  chicken  —  when  it  is  chicken.  But  tell 
me,  are  you  never  lonely  here,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin?" 

''1  am.     Charlotte  ain't." 

The  Judge  took  note  of  the  familiarity,  but  the 
laughing  eye  he  turned  upon  Mrs.  Collingwood 
did  not  betray  that  fact.  **Yes,  we  are  talking 
about  you,"  he  said  in  response  to  the  glance  she 
gave,  hearing  her  name  used.  "Mrs.  Maclaughlin 
says  that  you  are  never  lonely." 

'*Of  course  I  am  not.  I  have  too  many  occupa- 
tions. I  am  busy  from  morning  till  night.  There 
is  no  excuse  for  ennui." 

"I  thirst  to  know  what  you  do.  I  know  a  score 
of  ladies  who  are  suffering  from  nostalgia  with  far 
less  excuse  for  loneliness  than  you  have." 

"Well,  there  is  the  housekeeping,  though  our 
servants  are  quite  satisfactory,  and  it  is  n't 
onerous;  and  there  is  my  mending  and  Martin's, 
and  my  sewing,  and  I  have  an  hour's  school  each 
day  for  the  children,  and  an  hour's  medical  inspec- 
tion, which  usually  runs  into  two  or  three;  and  if 
you  will  look  on  our  table,  you  will  not  find  it 

[187] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

wholly  empty  of  books  and  magazines.  Then 
when  Martin  comes  home,  there  is  tea  and  talk,  and 
then  dinner.  Sometimes  after  dinner,  I  read  aloud, 
or  Martin  and  I  play  a  game  of  chess.  We  go  to 
bed  early  and  get  up  early  for  we  are  working  peo- 
ple." 

"Heavens!"  said  the  Judge.  "I  stand  con- 
founded. It  is  virtue  past  all  the  known  limits  of 
exemplariness.  I  wish  a  few  women  of  my  ac- 
quaintance could  hear  you." 

Charlotte  lifted  her  brows  and  smiled  with  kindly 
malice.  "Your  friend  Mrs.  Badgerly  is  well?"  she 
inquired  sweetly. 

"You  are  no  less  a  mind  reader  than  you  for- 
merly were,  I  perceive.  My  friend  Mrs.  Badgerly 
is  quite  well.  She  was  in  my  thoughts  when  I 
gave  utterance  to  my  wish.  My  friend  Mrs. 
Badgerly  is  one  of  your  admirers,  Mrs.  Colling- 
wood." 

"Since  when?" 

"Since  that  memorable  day  on  which  you  so  ef- 
fectually snubbed  her." 

"I  am  glad  I  did  it,"  Charlotte  said  emphatically, 
and  they  both  laughed. 

"It  has  been  done  more  brutally,  I  believe,"  said 
[188] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

the  Judge,  "but  never  more  thoroughly.  She  ap- 
preciates your  powers.     She  really  does." 

To  this  bit  of  by-talk  the  Commissioner  and  Mar- 
tin had  been  paying  a  desultory  attention  as  they 
sipped  their  tea.  At  that  point,  Charlotte  brought 
the  conversation  back  to  something  which  would 
include  the  other  guests,  and  the  Judge  got  no  fur- 
ther opportunity  to  engross  her  attention,  till,  the 
dark  falling,  a  servant  lit  a  lamp  in  the  sala^  and 
Charlotte  excused  herself  on  the  plea  of  a  house- 
keeper's duties.  She  left  the  group  on  the  ver- 
anda enjoying  the  warm  starlit  darkness,  across 
which  the  steamer's  lights  gleamed  cosily.  Judge 
Barton,  glancing  behind  him,  saw  her  superintend- 
ing the  laying  of  the  table  in  the  living-room  of 
the  cottage,  and  he  abruptly  rose  and  joined  her. 

''Can't  I  help?"  he  said  by  way  of  excuse  for  pre- 
senting himself.  "I  have  brought  all  this  nuisance 
down  upon  you.  I  might  be  allowed  to  make  my- 
self useful  if  I  can."  Then  in  reply  to  her  assur- 
ance that  there  was  nothing  that  he  could  do,  and 
that  she  regarded  the  occasion  as  a  treat  and  not  as 
a  nuisance,  he  went  on,  "Then  can't  I  stay  and  talk 
to  you?"  He  took  the  permission  for  granted  and 
without  waiting  for  a  reply,  glanced  around  the 

[189] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

room,  which,  with  its  quaintly  adorned  walls,  its 
tasteful  photographs  and  water-colors,  its  gleaming 
brass,  and  the  glancing  lights  on  carved  teak  and 
inlaid  blackwood,  was  full  of  charm. 

*'What  an  absolutely  delightful  room!  and  this 
old  table !  Where  does  Collingwood  pick  up  these 
things?" 

Charlotte  smilingly  laid  a  finger  upon  her  lips, 
glancing  in  the  direction  of  the  Commissioner.  "I 
think  it 's  loot,"  she  said. 

"And  I  know  this  is,"  the  Judge  remarked,  stand- 
ing in  front  of  the  desk.  ''I  remember  hearing 
Collingwood  say  he  was  in  the  Chinese  affair  in 
1900.  Why  wasn't  it  my  fate  to  be  there  too? 
It 's  all  very  well  to  talk  about  our  superior  civiliza- 
tion, but  there  is  something  in  the  mere  thought  of 
looting  treasures  like  these  to  make  the  mouth 
water." 

"Martin  did  not  loot  these.  Mr.  Kingsnorth 
did.     He  gave  them  to  me  for  a  wedding  present." 

"Lucky  dog!  either  to  loot  or  to  give." 

"I  am  ashamed  to  confess,"  Charlotte  admitted, 
twitching  a  tablecloth  into  better  place  as  a  serv- 
ant laid  it,  "that  I  am  getting  dreadfully  mixed 
upon  matters  of  right  and  wrong.     When  I  came 

[190] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

out  here,  my  principles  were  simple  as  day.  There 
was  n't  any  doubt  how  I  regarded  looters  and  peo- 
ple who  would  accept  looted  goods.  I  should  as 
soon  have  accepted  a  stolen  ham.  And  here  am  I, 
the  possessor  of  various  pieces  of  looted  furniture, 
brazenly  rejoicing  in  them,  and  all  the  more  be- 
cause they  were  looted.  I  am  degenerating  hour 
by  hour."  She  shook  her  head  plaintively  as  she 
put  a  massive  brass  candlestick  of  old  Chinese  de- 
sign into  its  place. 

Judge  Barton,  leaning  against  the  open  case- 
ment, his  two  hands  braced  behind  on  the  sill,  stood 
a  picture  of  smiling  content  as  he  studied  her.  His 
natural  magnetism  fairly  radiated  from  him  in  his 
benignant  mood.  His  wealth  of  grizzling  hair,  his 
large-featured,  intellectual  face,  and  one  or  two 
lines  that  bespoke  the  brute  strength  and  will  of 
the  man,  made  him  look  like  some  roughly  but 
powerfully  sketched  figure.  His  clothes  were  al- 
ways fashionably  cut  and  he  wore  them  well,  but 
the  sense  of  the  well  formed  muscular  body  beneath 
them  always  dominated  their  lines.  As  he  stood 
beaming  upon  her,  it  would  have  taken  a  stronger- 
minded  woman  than  Mrs.  Collingwood  to  weigh 
impartially  the  balanced  charms  of  the  powerful 

[  191  ] 


The  Locusts*  Tears 

intellect  and  of  the  powerful  animal  in  the  man. 
She  relaxed  her  old  suspicious  guard,  which  had 
revived  for  an  instant  when  he  followed  her  into 
the  house,  so  clearly  bent  upon  a  tete-a-tete.  With- 
out the  faintest  suggestion  of  sentimental  intimacy, 
they  were  encased  in  an  atmosphere  of  congenial 
interest.  An  onlooker  would  have  pronounced 
them  a  pair  of  reunited  chums. 

"I  am  dying  to  say  something,"  said  the  Judge 
in  response  to  her  lament  over  her  decaying  morals, 
"but  I  don't  dare." 

"Why?" 

"You  know  why  very  well.  *I  'm  skeered  o' 
you.' "  He  threw  a  fine  negro  accent  into  the 
negro  phrase. 

"Is  it  something  so  impertinent?" 

"If  I  may  so  express  it,  it  is  humanely  imperti- 
nent. I  know  no  other  woman  to  whom  I  should 
hesitate  to  propound  it  at  once,  for  it  is  a  question. 
But  I  have  been  scathed  by  you  before  this,  and  I 
am  not  absolutely  foolhardy." 

"Oh,  go  ahead,"  said  Charlotte.  "Impertinence 
acknowledged  is  impertinence  disarmed.  Besides, 
I  may  owe  you  some  amends.     I  could  never  see 

[192] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

how  I  did  it,  but  my  husband  says  I  used  to  snap 
your  head  off  every  time  you  spoke." 

"You  did,  you  did,  indeed."  This  was  said  with 
ferv^or, 

"Well,  I  promise  not  to  snap  this  time." 

"Don't  you  find  it  more  comfortable,  then  — 
being  degenerate,  I  mean?" 

For  an  instant  Mrs.  Collingwood  stared  at  him, 
and  he  broke  into  a  peal  of  laughter  in  which  she 
presently  joined. 

"Indeed,  I  must  be  a  formidable  person  if  you 
were  afraid  to  ask  that,"  she  said.  "Well,  then,  I 
do.     Does  my  answer  content  you?" 

"Unspeakably.  You  know  we  all  enjoy  being 
degenerate,  but  I  never  hoped  to  hear  you  admit  it." 

At  this  instant,  Mrs.  CoUingwood's  attention 
waS"  diverted  by  the  servant,  who  came  back  with 
a  tray  of  cutlery.  She  indicated  several  places  at 
which  plates  and  silver  were  to  be  laid,  but  found 
time  for  an  abstracted  smile  at  her  guest,  who  stood 
waiting  her  pleasure  while  she  gave  her  directions. 

"I  daresay — "  she  returned  briskly  to  the  sub- 
ject after  this  lapse  of  time  — "I  was  very  priggish. 
Martin  has  humanized  me  —  there  is  no  doubt  of 
13  [  193  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

it  —  and  I  am  grateful  to  him.  He  is  so  humor- 
ously practical.     How  do  you  think  he  is  looking?" 

"Oh  —  fine!"  Judge  Barton  was  conscious  of  a 
restiveness  suppressed.  He  said  to  himself  that  he 
had  not  come  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  talk 
about  Martin  Collingwood's  looks. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  think  so,  because  I  think  so 
myself.  I  fancy  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  did  not  feed 
him  properly  in  the  old  days,  and  men  get  so  care- 
less by  themselves.  He  says  I  *hold  him  up  to  the 
collar  beautifully,'  and  I  really  try  to,  and  regular 
food  and  physical  comfort  will  tell." 

"Collingwood  is  the  picture  of  health  and  of  mas- 
culine good  looks,"  said  Judge  Barton;  **and  as  for 
you,  it  is  a  joy  to  see  anyone  looking  so  healthy, 
so  vital.  You  have  changed  immensely.  I 
wonder,  dear  lady,  if  you  yourself  realized  how 
tired  and  nearly  broken-down  you  were  in  those  old 
days." 

"I  was  miserable,  physically  and  nervously  worn 
out,  and  I  suppose  I  looked  it.  But  I  have  had  a 
glorious  rest  and  nothing  in  the  world  to  fret  or 
worry  about,  and — "  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his, 
blushing  as  she  approached  the  topic  which  had  been 
the  source  of  so  much  constraint  between  them  — 

[194] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

"and  Martin  and  I  have  been  ridiculously  happy  in 
each  other.  I  may  as  well  be  frank  and  admit  that 
half  that  was  depressing  me  was  sheer  loneliness  and 
wounded  pride.  Probably  the  loneliness  was  much 
my  own  fault,  for  I  hardly  met  people  half  way; 
and  the  wounded  pride  was  wholly  my  own  fault, 
for  I  started  out  to  earn  my  own  living  in  defiance 
of  all  my  relatives'  wishes.  I  suppose  I  had  not 
the  philosophy  to  meet  the  situation,  in  spite  of 
that  hateful  little  slap  you  gave  me  about  'the  un- 
loveliest  thing  in  women.' "  The  Judge  started 
forward. 

"Thank  you  for  giving  me  my  opportunity,"  he 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "I  could  not  have  referred 
to  it  otherwise.  I  have  writhed  with  shame  every 
time  I  have  thought  of  those  words,  Mrs.  CoUing- 
wood.  Will  you  permit  me  to  apologize  for  them 
and  for  numerous  other  unmanly  stabs  that  I  have 
given  you?  I  do  not  know  why  I  did  it;  all  the 
time  I  was  longing  to  be  friends  with  you." 

"I  suppose  I  irritated  you,"  Charlotte  replied 
slowly,  a  little  surprised  by  his  vehemence.  "It  is 
inexplicable  to  me  also  when  I  look  back  upon  it. 
I  had  really  forgiven  you  long  ago.  You  were 
very  nice  to  us  on  our  wedding  day,  I  remember, 

[195] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

and  I  felt  forlorn  and  deserted  enough  on  that  oc- 
casion to  be  grateful  to  anyone  who  showed  any 
signs  of  human  interest  in  us.  But  I  am  glad  that 
you  have  apologized,  and  am  glad  to  express  my 
forgiveness,  and  to  regret  that  I  was  so  snappish. 
All  of  which  may  be  expressed  in  that  homely 
phrase,  *Let  us  bury  the  hatchet.'  " 

"We  were  always  meant  to  be  friends,  I  think." 
Some  vibration  in  the  voice  made  Charlotte  sheer 
off  from  an  approach  to  intensity.  "Martin  al- 
ways liked  you,"  she  said;  and  thus,  ten  seconds 
after  their  reconciliation,  the  Judge  had  cause  to 
reflect  with  some  irritation  that  there  is  no  woman 
in  the  world  so  unsatisfying  at  times  as  one  born 
without  natural  coquetry.  He  had  a  few  minutes 
in  which  to  develop  this  idea,  while  Charlotte  made 
a  voyage  of  investigation  to  the  kitchen.  She  came 
back  well  satisfied.  "I  think  we  can  count  on  din- 
ner in  half  an  hour,"  she  said,  and  carried  him  back 
with  her  to  the  veranda,  where  she  did  her  duty  by 
the  Commissioner  and  the  Honorable  Mr.  Jones, 
who  was  not  expansive  on  any  subject  other  than 
oyster  shells. 

Kingsnorth,  who  had  gone  over  to  his  own  cot- 
tage and  had  donned  the  English  mess  jacket,  which 

[  196  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

is  ^  the  standard  evening  attire  in  the  Orient,  came 
back,  an  undeniable  English  gentleman  in  spite  of 
his  degenerate  countenance,  and  devoted  himself 
to  the  judical  luminary,  who  took  stock  of  him  as 
they  chatted.  Indeed,  the  Judge  was  profoundly 
interested  in  Charlotte's  island  companions.  The 
Maclaughlins  were  the  sort  of  people  he  would  ex- 
pect to  find  in  company  with  CoUingwood,  but  the 
Englishman  was  a  surprise.  He  said  to  himself 
that  it  must  have  strained  all  Mrs.  Collingwood's 
pride  to  accommodate  herself  to  that  household,  and 
he  marvelled  at  her  tremendous  growth  in  self-con- 
trol and  in  social  vagabondage.  Six  months  be- 
fore she  would  not  have  met  so  unconcernedly  such 
a  situation  as  that  in  which  she  found  herself. 

At  dinner  the  Commissioner,  sitting  on  one  side 
of  Mrs.  CoUingwood  with  the  Judge  on  the  other, 
was  secretly  amazed  at  the  house,  the  household, 
and  the  very  agreeable  woman  who  was  his  hostess. 
With  one  laughing  remark  — "My  dear,  I  am  the 
housekeeper,  and  I  won't  be  apologized  for" —  she 
had  silenced  Martin,  who  was  inclined  to  drift  into 
that  apologetic  and  explanatory  vein  which  de- 
mands continual  reassurance  from  the  guests  of 
their  appreciation  of  their  food;  and,  picking  up 

[  197  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

the  conversational  ball,  she  had  sent  it  spinning 
lightly  here  and  there  through  all  the  courses  of  as 
perfectly  served  a  dinner  as  the  Commissioner  had 
ever  sat  through.  She  was  ably  assisted  by  the  two 
officials  and  Kingsnorth  and  even  by  Martin,  whose 
delight  in  his  wife's  grasp  of  the  situation  set  his 
dry,  keen  wits  at  bubbling  effervescence.  Mac- 
laughlin,  though  not  partial  to  what  he  called 
"gentlefolk,"  was  a  hard-headed  Scot,  not  likely 
to  rush  in  where  angels  tread  lightly,  and  Mrs.  Mac- 
laughlin,  who  found  the  general  trend  of  conver- 
sation too  agile  for  her,  may  be  said  to  have  concen- 
trated herself  on  the  oyster-shell  seeker  and  the 
Captain,  who  suif ered  also  from  a  slowness  of  ab- 
stract speech. 

It  was  also,  considering  the  fact  that  it  was 
limited  by  the  resources  of  a  comparatively  un- 
productive island,  a  good  dinner,  even  in  the  opin- 
ion of  two  habitual  diners-out.  It  began  with  a 
cocktail  of  Martin's  own  mixing  and  was  continued 
in  a  clear  soup  and  in  a  baked  fish  which  must  have 
weighed  ten  pounds  and  was  of  incomparable 
flavor.  "Never  have  I  eaten  such  fish,"  declared 
Judge  Barton,  helping  himself  the  second  time  to 
the  fish  and  its  garnish  of  thin,  sliced  cucumbers. 

[198] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

Then  there  was  a  roast  of  beef  highly  relished  by 
the  fisher  folk,  camote^  or  sweet  potato,  croquettes, 
a  dish  of  bamboo  sprouts  cooked  after  a  savory 
native  recipe,  and  green  peppers  stuffed  with  force- 
meat. There  was  a  crab  salad,  deKciously  cold,  and 
papaya  ice. 

''But  how  do  you  obtain  ice?"  said  the  Commis- 
sioner. 

"We  have  a  small '  machine  which  freezes  one 
hundred  pounds  daily,"  replied  Charlotte,  "just 
enough  for  each  cottage  and  the  mess  kitchen." 

"I  remember  when  Collingwood  proposed  having 
that  machine  made  by  special  order,  how  I  pooh- 
poohed  the  idea,"  remarked  Kingsnorth.  "I  was 
not  sufficiently  Americanized  to  feel  the  need  of  it. 
But  I  am  as  bad  as  the  rest  of  them  now.  Frozen 
desserts  are  the  only  ones  fit  for  the  tropics;  and 
I  Ve  even  learned  to  drink  iced-tea." 

A  general  chorus  of  assent  went  up.  "You 
certainly  make  yourselves  comfortable,"  the  Com- 
missioner declared,  "and,  really,  failing  a  fresh  beef 
supply,  you  seem  to  have  all  that  we  get  in  Manila, 
in  addition  to  a  more  charming  situation.  I  sup- 
pose your  only  real  difficulty  is  the  matter  of  med- 
ical aid." 

[199] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"That  is  our  only  real  fearT  CoUingwood  re- 
plied. ''We  keep  a  supply  of  coal  on  hand  for 
emergencies,  and  we  never  let  it  get  below  a  cer- 
tain point.  We  keep  a  reserve  sufficient  to  take 
the  launch  over  to  Cuyo  or  to  Romblon.  But  if 
there  came  a  sudden  need  in  bad  weather,  we  should 
be  in  the  deuce  of  a  fix.  It  is  the  only  thought 
that  ever  keeps  me  awake  at  night." 

The  Commissioner  nodded  and  murmured  some- 
thing appreciative  of  a  possible  crisis.  Certainly 
this  very  entertaining  lady  who  sat  beside  him  — 
a  lady  who  had  seen  something  of  the  world  if 
he  was  any  judge  of  personality  —  must  feel  her- 
self strangely  situated  in  that  out  of  the  way  spot, 
chancing  the  dangers  of  tidal  waves,  of  storms,  and 
of  illness  without  medical  assistance.  He  fancied 
the  situation  was  explicable.  The  compromises 
which  women  make  for  matrimony  had  offered  him 
food  for  reflection  long  before  he  ever  saw  Mrs. 
CoUingwood;  but  what  he  could  not  understand  was 
why  she  should  have  been  among  those  who  have 
to  make  compromises.  A  woman  of  her  grace  and 
finish  ought  to  have  a  pretty  wide  field  of  selection, 
he  thought;  but  then  one  can  never  tell  how  cir- 

[200] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

cumstances  force  persons  into  unfortunate  posi- 
tions. The  Englishman  was  a  dose;  not  that  he 
had  altogether  lost  his  breeding,  but  that  the  atmos- 
phere of  degeneration  hung  so  palpably  about  him. 
"How  he  must  hate  himself,"  thought  the  Com- 
missioner, "to  make  us  all  so  conscious  of  his  fall  I" 
He  removed  his  eyes  from  Kingsnorth's  face  after 
arriving  at  this  conclusion,  just  in  time  to  meet  the 
clear  gaze  of  his  hostess,  and  to  know,  by  her  sud- 
den blush  and  momentary  shrinking,  that  she  had 
read  him  like  an  open  book,  and  to  realize  that  she 
was  self-conscious  of  her  own  situation. 

She  was  enough  mistress  of  herself,  however,  to 
hold  the  conversation  at  its  level.  She  asked  with 
intelligent  interest,  about  those  political  events  in 
the  islands,  concerning  which  it  is  tactful  to  ques- 
tion Commissioners.  She  drew  the  statesman  out 
on  the  subject  of  his  own  hopes  and  plans  for  the 
islands.  He  in  turn  asked  information  from  the 
fishers,  and  they,  warming  to  the  theme  as  men  will 
when  they  talk  of  things  in  which  they  are  ex- 
perienced, gave  him  their  practical,  hard-headed 
views  of  men  and  conditions,  spoke  of  native  labor 
and  its  capacities  and  incapacities,  of  resources  and 

[^01] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

possibilities,  and  of  the  disadvantages  of  political 
unrest  to  a  people  more  primitive  than  any  that  ever 
before  held  the  reins  of  government. 

Even  an  illiterate  man  is  interesting  when  he 
talks  of  his  craft,  and  Martin  Collingwood,  how- 
ever little  natural  development  he  had  in  social 
subtilties,  was  anything  but  illiterate  or  even  ill  in- 
formed. To  his  wife  he  seemed  to  gather  new  dig- 
nity as  he  took  a  leader's  natural  position.  It  was 
plain  that  his  business  associates  deferred  to  him; 
and  in  ten  minutes  it  was  plain  that  the  Commis- 
sioner knew  he  was  deaUng  with  a  man  who  would, 
in  the  financial  world  at  least,  make  himself  felt. 
Commissioners  never  ignore  financiers.  There 
came  into  the  Commissioner's  manner  as  the  dinner 
progressed,  something  more  deferential  than  the 
mere  civility  of  a  guest  to  a  host,  something  which 
implied  his  acceptance  of  Mr.  Colhngwood  as  a  man 
to  be  considered. 

It  was,  on  the  whole,  a  most  successful  dinner. 
The  newcomers  had  brought  with  them  a  current 
of  the  outer  atmosphere,  breathing  interest  and 
exhilaration  into  the  little  colony  of  self -exiles ;  and 
the  exiles  shared  themselves  so  wholly  with  the  out- 
siders that  the  outsiders  grew  to  feel  much  at  home. 


The  Locusts'  Years 

When,  at  eleven  o'clock,  they  all  walked  down  to 
the  beach  with  the  Commissioner  and  the  Captain, 
regrets  and  good-byes  were  as  hearty  as  they  would 
have  been  if  the  acquaintance  had  been  of  long 
duration. 

As  he  was  pulled  out  to  the  steamer,  the  Com- 
missioner remembered  that,  on  the  way  down,  Bar- 
ton had  given  him  a  hint  of  an  odd  situation,  to 
which  he  had  paid  but  a  cursory  attention.  Wei] 
it  was  for  the  old  gossip  that  he  was  safe  ashore 
under  the  tent.  *'But  I  '11  have  it  out  of  him  going 
back,"  reflected  the  Commissioner.  *Tine  woman! 
Fine  manly  fellow,  her  husband;  sort  of  man  we 
need  out  here !  He  is  n't  her  equal  socially,  but  I 
suppose  women  forget  social  differences  just  as 
we  do  when  they  come  under  the  attraction  of  good 
looks  and  manly  traits.  Besides,  if  he  makes 
money,  she  can  float  him  with  no  difficulty.  A  re- 
mark-a-bly  fine  woman." 


[203] 


CHAPTER  X 

JUDGE  BARTON'S  servant,  aided  by 
Kingsnorth's  boy  and  Martin's,  had  put  up 
the  tents  and  had  seen  thoroughly  to  the 
comfort  of  the  visitors,  so  that  there  was  nothing 
more  to  do  than  to  bid  the  guests  good  night  and  to 
warn  them  of  the  island  habit  of  sea  bathing  every 
morning.  Jones  had  no  bathing  suit,  but  Kings- 
north  said  he  would  be  able  to  lend  him  one ;  while 
Judge  Barton,  showing  his  fine  white  teeth  in  an 
appreciative  smile,  remarked  that  he  never  travelled 
without  one.  **We  shall  see  you  in  the  morning, 
then,"  said  Charlotte,  and  she  and  Martin  betook 
themselves  to  their  own  dwelling.  Martin  sank 
lazily  into  his  hammock  on  the  veranda  for  a  final 
cigar,  while  Charlotte  went  to  give  some  orders  to 
her  cook  about  breakfast.  She  found  that  gentle- 
man asleep  on  the  kitchen  table  with  his  head  on 
a  bread  board.  Rudely  awakened  and  asked  for 
explanations,  he  stated  that  he  had  not  gone  to  his 
quarters,  because  the  Sefiora  had  sent  him  word  that 

[204] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

she  wished  to  speak  with  him;  but  finding  the  time 
pass  slowly,  he  had  fallen  asleep  as  she  had  found 
him.  He  asked  her  plaintively  why  she  had  been 
so  impatient  with  him  for  so  small  an  offence,  and 
he  held  out  the  bread  board  to  show  that  it  had 
suffered  no  harm.  "Wash  it  with  boiling  water  I 
Why  not?  but  manana,  manana!  As  she  could 
plainly  see  there  was  no  boiling  water  at  that  time." 

The  situation  being  one  in  which  racial  intelli- 
gence beats  itself  helplessly  against  racial  unin- 
telligence,  Charlotte  contented  herself  with  a  note 
in  her  housekeeping  tablets  to  remind  her  to  super- 
intend the  washing  process  the  next  morning,  gave 
her  orders,  and  returned  to  her  room.  Martin  was 
standing  before  her  glass  in  his  shirt  and  trousers, 
a  costume  which  always  seemed  to  add  to  his  stature. 

"Now  will  you  believe  me?"  he  began  teasingly. 
"What  did  I  tell  you  about  the  Judge?" 

"I  have  n't  a  word  to  say,  but  I  was  surprised. 
What  do  you  suppose  brought  him  down  here?" 

"I  told  you  he  wanted  to  see  you." 

"He  said  he  wanted  to  see  us,  and  we  will  treat 
him  on  that  basis.  That  means  that  you  must  do 
your  share  of  the  entertaining.  I  do  not  want  him 
on  my  hands  all  the  time.     He  may  just  as  well 

[205] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

go  with  you  each  day  as  stay  around  the  house. 
Promise  me,  dear,  that  you  will  take  him  on  your 
shoulders." 

There  was  an  unmistakable  earnestness  about 
Charlotte's  manner.  She  was  pulling  hairpins  out 
of  her  hair  as  she  spoke,  and  she  laid  those  feminine 
accessories  somewhat  vigorously  in  a  mother  of 
pearl  box,  which  Martin,  to  honor  his  calling,  had 
insisted  on  having  made  for  her.  Her  husband 
sank  suddenly  into  a  rocking  chair  and  pulled  her 
down  on  his  knee. 

"You  are  the  funniest  woman  I  ever  knew,"  he 
said  reflectively,  "the  first  one  I  ever  knew  who 
wouldn't  play  on  a  man's  jealousy.  The  truth 
is  I  was  just  half  inclined  to  be  jealous,  but  you  've 
disarmed  me." 

"I  can't  conceive  myself,  Martin,  playing  on 
your  jealousy.  The  whole  idea  is  abhorrent  to  me. 
Jealousy  implies  distrust.  Do  you  think  me  cap- 
able of  a  flirtation  with  Judge  Barton?  Do  you 
think  I  should  enjoy  making  you  distrust  me?" 

Martin's  face  was  a  study.  "You  might  not 
mean  anything  but  a  little  fun,"  he  said  apologet- 
ically. "Most  women  begin  that  way.  And  then 
you  might  find  that  you  liked  him  best.     That  hap- 

[  206  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

pens.  It  happens  often.  And  the  Judge  is  a  big 
somebody,  and  I  am  a  pearl-fisher." 

His  tone  grew  bitter  as  he  pronounced  the  last 
words.  It  was  almost  the  first  time  that  Charlotte 
had  heard  him  refer  to  the  worldly  distinctions  that 
he  affected  to  despise.  But  if  he  had  expected  his 
self-disparagement  to  bring  him  a  reward  in  a 
counter  disparagement  of  the  Judge,  he  was  dis- 
appointed. Charlotte  sat  on  his  knee,  a  very 
earnest  figure,  her  teeth  nipping  her  lower  lip,  her 
brows  frowning  with  a  very  real  perplexity.  Her 
manner  brought  back  to  him  his  old  fear  of  her 
unexpectedness  in  thought  and  action.  But  even 
as  he  sat  wondering,  she  turned  and  smiled,  and  he 
drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"We  may  as  well  have  this  out  now,"  she  said. 
"Perhaps  I  am  making  a  mistake  in  revealing  my- 
self to  you  frankly.  I  think  men  understand  the 
other  sort  of  woman  better,  the  one  who  plays  upon 
their  jealousy.  I  believe  they  value  her  higher." 
She  closed  his  protesting  lips  with  a  gentle  finger. 
"I  am  afraid  that  I  do  not  belong  wholly  to  the 
twentieth  century,  Martin.  They  caU  it  the  age 
of  individuahsm.  But  I  believe  yet  in  those  old 
tenets  which  were  not  individual  opinions,  but  the 

[207] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

joint  consensus  of  generations  seeking  a  livable 
basis  for  men  and  women.  I  believe  in  marriage 
and  the  family,  and  a  lot  of  old-fashioned  things. 
I  believe  that  what  chastity  is  to  a  woman,  physical 
courage  is  to  a  man.  I  believe  that  women  are 
born  into  this  world  to  bear  children  and  that  men 
are  born  to  fight  for  woman  and  child.  The  men 
of  the  present  day  seem  to  entertain  a  dream  of 
universal  peace,  so  perhaps  the  women  are  excus- 
able for  entertaining  a  dream  of  universal  barren- 
ness. However,  that 's  irrelevant.  We  can  discuss 
that  another  time.  But  when  I  took  you  for  my 
husband,  Martin,  believing  in  all  these  old-fash- 
ioned ideas,  I  did  it  in  the  consciousness  that  the 
choice  was  final,  the  determining  factor  of  my  life. 
So  long  as  you  live,  there  is  between  me  and  every 
other  man  in  the  world  a  barrier  (I  know  not  what 
it  is)  across  which  my  mind  will  never  step,  and 
across  which  no  man  will  ever  try  to  address  me 
twice.  No,  I  won't  be  kissed  —  it  is  the  first  time 
I  have  ever  repelled  a  caress  from  you,  but  to  me 
this  moment  is  too  serious  for  caresses.  You  have 
the  man's  right  to  resent  another  man's  possessive 
thought  of  me;  but  you  have  no  right  to  be  jealous 
of  me.     I  do  not  say  that  I  will  always  love  you. 

[208] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

There  are  oiFences  which  you  could  commit  against 
me  which  would  turn  my  love  to  hatred.  I  do  not 
pose  as  the  angelic,  forgiving  woman.  I  give 
fidelity.  I  demand  it  in  return.  If  you  ever  cease 
to  love  me,  somehow,  if  it  breaks  my  heart,  I  shall 
cease  to  love  you.  I  would  not  submit  to  personal 
brutality  from  you  or  from  any  living  being.  But 
so  long  as  you  live  there  will  be,  in  a  sentimental 
sense,  but  one  man  in  the  world  for  me.  I  want 
you  to  know  that,  to  understand  it  and  feel  it  in 
every  fibre  of  your  being,  even  though  I  know  you 
hold  me  cheaper  for  so  understanding  it."  Her 
bosom  heaved,  her  cheeks  were  fiery,  and  she  would 
have  sprung  from  his  knee  only  that  he  held  her  in 
a  clasp  that  was  iron.  His  own  eyes  flashed  a  reply 
to  hers. 

"You  had  no  cause  to  say  that  last,"  he  said  hotly, 
"No  cause,  when  ten  minutes  ago,  you  assured 
me  of  my  unlikeness  to  other  women!  Look  into 
your  heart  of  hearts  and  ask  yourself  if  I  am  a 
dearer  possession  now  that  you  know  that,  come 
good  or  ill,  with  you  or  apart  from  you,  in  love  or 
in  anger,  I  hold  myself  yours  and  no  other  man's. 
And  I  do  so  not  out  of  any  false  loyalty  to  you, 
for  there  are  conditions  which  might  cancel  your 
1*  [  209  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

right  to  ask  loyalty.  No:  it  is  loyalty  to  myself. 
And  this  much  I  know  of  the  whole  male  sex;  that 
while  you  are  infinitely  content  to  know  that  there 
are  women  who  can  entertain  such  ideals  and  hold 
to  them  at  any  sacrifice,  you  hold  the  individual 
woman  cheaper  for  the  knowledge." 

She  stared  at  him  accusingly,  and  at  first,  half 
confounded,  half  amused  with  her  unusual  inten- 
sity, he  tried  to  stare  back ;  but  in  the  end,  his  eyes 
fell  and  a  dull  shame  burned  in  his  cheek.  For  he 
knew  that  what  she  said  was  true,  and  that  in  the 
very  moment  of  her  assurances,  he  felt  the  loss  of 
something  to  guard,  felt  that  easy-going  surety 
which  a  man  of  his  experiences  with  women  knows 
only  too  well  how  to  diagnose.  However,  another 
emotion  of  a  very  great  pride  in  her  capacity  and 
in  her  frankness  and  a  sense  of  guilt  made  him  very 
abject.  He  held  her  when  she  tried  again  to  slip 
from  his  arms;  and  when,  to  his  consternation,  she 
put  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder  and  her  body 
was  shaken  with  noiseless  sobs,  he  was  as  comforting 
as  she  could  have  desired  him  to  be,  and  she  felt 
a  repentant  tear  mingle  with  her  own. 

She  allowed  herself  no  luxury  of  grief,  and  after 
a  few  convulsive  efforts  got  control  of  herself. 

[210] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

But  she  lay  with  her  head  on  his  shoulder  for  a  long 
time,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  with  a  mournful 
dignity. 

"We  have  had  our  tragic  moment,"  she  said, 
"and  I  with  my  wretched  love  of  staring  facts  in 
the  face  have  unearthed  a  family  skeleton.  Let 's 
put  it  back  in  the  cupboard,  Martin.  Yours  was 
a  bogey  skeleton,  and  I  was  so  anxious  to  show  it 
up  for  a  fraud,  that  I  dragged  out  the  genuine  one. 
That 's  singularly  in  keeping  with  my  lifelong 
habit.  Don't  look  so  long-faced,  Martin.  Are 
you  angry?"  She  put  her  face  caressingly  against 
his. 

"Angry!  Why  should  I  be  angry?  I  wish  you 
did  n't  analyze  things  so  minutely,  Lottie." 

"I  wish  I  did  n't  too,  Martin,  but  I  can't  help  it. 
That 's  my  punishment  for  being  I.  Oh,  how  I 
wish  I  were  not  I!"  She  looked  at  him  with  eyes 
xmfathomably  tired  and  sad,  eyes  of  that  gentle 
appeal  that  went  straight  to  the  depths  of  his  mas- 
cuhne.  heart. 

"AH  the  same,  I  love  you  as  you,"  he  said.  "I 
can't  measure  how  much  more  or  less  for  being  sure 
of  you  —  but  I  'm  mighty  glad  to  be  sure  of  you 
■■ — and  I  can't-  take  my  own  insides  to  pieces  as 

[  211  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

you  can,  but  all  the  same  I  love  you,  love  you, 
Lottie." 

But  as  he  smoked  a  last  cigar, —  for  he  said  that 
their  talk  had  driven  sleep  from  him  —  Mr.  Col- 
lingwood  uttered  but  one  phrase  as  he  monotonously 
paced  back  and  forth  across  his  veranda.  Some- 
times he  uttered  it  with  irritation,  sometimes  he 
mouthed  it  slowly  as  if  its  terse  brevity  were  the 
outlet  of  profound  conviction.  Sometimes  he  even 
smiled  tenderly  over  it,  as  a  memory  of  his  wife's 
earnestness  brushed  across  his  vision.  But  how- 
ever he  said  it,  he  repeated  it  again  and  again; 
and  it  was,  "Well,  I  '11  be  damned!"  For  the  lady 
he  had  married  had  again  said  and  done  the  un- 
expected thing. 

Charlotte  was  still  less  inclined  to  sleep  than  her 
lord,  though  she  went  through  the  semblance  of 
courting  slimiber.  She  was  infinitely  annoyed  with 
herself  for  her  own  outburst,  and  was  seeking  what 
seemed  a  reasonable  cause  for  so  much  emotion, 
but  could  not  find  one.  She  heartily  wished  Judge 
Barton  had  seen  fit  to  wait  for  an  invitation  before 
he  invaded  Maylubi;  and,  though  she  declined  to 
admit  that  she  looked  upon  his  coming  as  an  omen, 
she  was  inchned  to  feel  that  he  had  been  altogether 

[212] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

too  mixed  in  her  romance.  He  had  been  an  un- 
sympathetic and  amused  onlooker  at  her  courtship ; 
he  had  been  with  them  on  that  last  crucial  evening 
before  their  marriage ;  —  she  wondered  how  much 
his  mere  presence  had  influenced  her  in  her  subse- 
quent speech  with  Martin ;  —  he  had  been  present 
at  the  wedding;  and  now  his  coming  was  contem- 
poraneous with  their  nearest  approach  to  a  quarrel. 
As  for  what  she  had.  eased  her  mind  of  to  Martin, 
she  knew  that  she  was  right,  but  she  added,  self- 
accusingly,  that  her  knowing  it  was  all  wrong. 
Quite  mournfully  she  arraigned  herself,  and  she  as- 
sented whole-heartedly  in  what  she  knew  must  be 
Martin's  secret  verdict  —  that  women  have  no  busi- 
ness with  ideas  of  a  philosophy  on  sex  matters :  that 
they  should  be  limited  to  instincts  and  to  principles. 
Long  after  Martin  had  ceased  to  pass  upon  his 
own  condemnation,  and  was  sleeping  like  an  exag- 
gerated infant,  she  lay  wide-eyed,  fearing  she  knew 
not  what,  but  conscious'  of  change  impending.  She 
had  had  eight  months  of  a  happiness  more  nearly 
perfect  than  she  had  ever  dreamed  could  be  hers, 
and  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things  temporal  as 
she  knew  them  that  such  happiness  could  be  of  long 
duration. 

[213] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

Judge  Barton  meanwhile  had  retired  to  his  tent, 
but  had  been  drawn  thence  by  a  late-rising  moon 
and  his  own  cogitations.  As  he  paced  slowly  up 
and  down  the  silvery  beach,  his  thoughts  rushed 
one  after  another  in  confusing  circles.  First  of 
all  he  anathematized  himself  for  daring  to  put  to 
the  test  that  lulled  security  of  his  own  feelings  for 
Mrs.  Collingwood.  He  had  left  her  on  her  wed- 
ding day,  himself  a  prey  to  a  charm  that  had  struck 
him,  as  it  were,  between  the  eyes,  struck  him  with 
that  force  which  emotion  can  attain  only  when  it 
is  suddenly  aroused  for  one  who  has  played  an  un- 
heeded part  in  the  subject's  life  up  to  the  moment  of 
its  birth.  It  had  been  months  since  he  deemed 
that  his  sudden  obsession  for  Mrs.  Collingwood  was 
dead,  killed  by  very  weariness  of  itself,  and  by  con- 
tinual thwarting.  For  a  week  or  ten  days  after  his 
parting  with  her,  he  had  gone  about  with  her  face 
constantly  before  him,  with  her  voice  in  his  ears. 
He  had  started  at  the  sight  of  a  figure  in  the  dis- 
tance, resembling  hers.  His  appetite  had  failed 
him,  zest  in  all  things  had  departed  from  him.  The 
congratulations  of  his  confreres  on  a  brilliant  de- 
cision had,  it  seemed  to  him,  been  mockery.  He 
wanted  her  approval,  nobody  else's.     The  women 

[2U] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

of  his  acquaintance  bored  him  to  irritation.  "I 
am  in  love,"  he  admitted  to  himself,  "in  love  with 
a  married  woman  whom  I  probably  might  have 
married  myself  had  I  so  desired.  I  saw  her  every 
day  for  six  weeks,  and  far  from  entertaining  any 
sentimental  thoughts  about  her,  I  dehberately  set 
myself  to  tease  and  annoy  her.  I  lost  all  sight  of 
her  for  six  weeks,  and  in  that  time  never  gave  her 
a  thought;  but  when  I  found  her  with  her  lover 
at  her  side  and  saw  her  vow  herself  to  him,  for  rea- 
sons only  known  to  the  imp  of  perversity  I  discov- 
ered that  she  was  my  long  lost  affinity.  My  God! 
was  ever  man  before  such  an  imbecile?  How  can 
a  man  conceive  such  an  affection  for  a  woman  who 
has  given  him  one  tremulous  smile  on  her  wedding 
day?  What  does  this  thing  feed  on?  Am  I  com- 
ing to  my  dotage?" 

In  such  strain  did  the  Judge  berate  himself 
through  ten  or  twelve  weary  days,  and  then  the  ob- 
session left  him  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come.  Interest 
and  ambition  returned,  he  found  his  women  friends 
as  entertaining  as  ever,  and  though  he  thought  often 
and  kindly  of  Mrs.  Collingwood,  his  meditations 
were  tinged  with  a  strain  of  that  violet  usually  al- 
lotted to  the  dead.     Past  experience  had  taught 

[215] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

him  that  sentimental  fancies  about  women,  once 
chilled,  are  hard  to  resuscitate,  and  he  felt  quite 
certain  that  Mrs.  CoUingwood's  ghost  would  trouble 
his  musings  no  more.  He  fell  into  the  habit  of 
thinking  about  the  experience  humorously,  he  spoke 
of  it  to  himself  as  "my  tragedy,"  and  once  he  nearly 
allowed  a  clever  woman  to  worm  the  story  out  of 
him.  The  accidental  intrusion  of  a  third  person 
was  all  that  saved  him  from  an  access  of  garrulity; 
but  having  been  saved,  he  was  able  to  contemplate 
with  retrospective  horror  his  nearness  to  the  brink 
and  to  avoid  all  subsequent  promenadings  on  that 
path. 

When  by  mere  chance,  he  found  himself  invited 
to  accompany  the  Commissioner  and  the  oyster-shell 
agent  on  their  voyage  of  discovery,  he  accepted  the 
invitation  with  delight,  regarding  himself  as  a  man 
protected  by  inoculation.  He  owned  up,  however, 
to  a  frank  curiosity  about  the  CoUingwoods,  and  to  a 
strong  desire  to  see  them  together  in  their  home ;  but 
he  had  as  little  expectation  of  a  revival  of  his  fancy 
for  Mrs.  CoUingwood  as  he  had  of  beholding  so 
great  a  change  in  the  lady  herself. 

But  it  had  revived!  It  was  there  in  full  force, 
bringing  with  it  the  primitive  man's  sense  that  de- 

[216] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

sire  is  right.  From  the  moment  he  had  again  be- 
held Charlotte's  high-bred  face  with  her  soul  shin- 
ing through  the  gray  eyes,  and  had  been  again  con- 
scious of  her  fastidiousness  and  of  her  intelligence, 

—  in  short,  of  all  the  overpowering  emanations  of 
a  unique  personahty, —  his  old  passion  to  domi- 
nate her,  to  hold  her  fascinated  by  his  own  powerful 
magnetism,  burned  like  a  fever  within  him.  It 
burned  the  more  that  in  the  lapsed  months  some 
new  element  of  charm  had  come  to  her,  as  if  the 
enlarging  of  human  experience  had  fused  and 
melted  into  softer  lines  those  sturdy  elements  of 
character  which  had  repelled  quite  as  often  as  they 
had  attracted  him.     She  was  not  to  be  flirted  with 

—  that  he  knew  only  too  well,  and  he  had  to  put 
on  eyes  and  voice  a  guard  that  cost  him  dear;  but 
he  could  not  resist  following  her  when  she  went  to 
supervise  her  dinner  preparations,  he  could  not  re- 
sist the  grudging  sense  he  had  of  every  word  ad- 
dressed to  another  than  himself. 

He  cursed  his  folly  in  submitting  himself  to 
temptation.  By  his  own  act  he  had  put  himself  in 
this  place  and  had  burned  his  bridges  behind  him. 
He  had  let  himself  in  for  a  week  of  the  society 
of  a  woman,  to  associate  with  whom,  on  the  terms  on 

[217] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

which  he  must  meet  her,  was  sheer  tantalization. 
She  would  not  flirt  with  him,  nor  was  she  of  the 
ingenuously  simple  sort  which  can  be  flirted  with 
without  knowing  the  fact.  The  Judge  smiled  rue- 
fully as  he  tried  to  imagine  Charlotte  CoUingwood 
dominated  by  any  emotion  which  she  could  not 
analyze.  Plainly,  he  had  one  course  before  him 
—  to  see  as  little  as  possible  of  Mrs.  CoUingwood 
except  in  her  husband's  presence,  and  to  guard  his 
eyes  and  tongue  if  by  chance  he  should  find  him- 
self alone  with  her.  He  was  rather  proud  of  his 
virtuous  resolutions,  but  he  dreaded  the  slow-go- 
ing days  —  seven  of  them  before  the  steamer  would 
return  and  he  could  put  time  and  distance  between 
him  and  Charlotte  CoUingwood.  The  Judge  had 
great  faith  in  Time  as  a  mender  of  all  things. 


[218] 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  next  morning  at  the  matutinal  swim 
the  Judge  affixed  himself  as  a  satellite  to 
Kingsnorth,  and  left  the  married  pair  to 
take  their  morning  recreation  together.  At  break- 
fast, he  talked  business  and  accepted  with  apparent 
eagerness  an  invitation  to  visit  the  fishing  grounds 
with  the  workers  and  the  shell-purveyor.  He  went 
on  that  day  and  on  five  other  days,  enduring  a  great 
many  sights  and  smells  that  he  by  no  means  enjoyed, 
but  admitting  to  himself  that  anything  was  better 
than  battling  with  the  continual  temptation  to  bom- 
bard Mrs.  CoUingwood  with  the  declaration  of  his 
passion  for  her.  He  had  enough  to  do  to  watch 
his  betraying  eye  and  voice  during  those  long  hours, 
from  five  o'clock  till  bedtime,  during  which  the 
little  colony  was  perforce  united;  and  at  the  end 
of  each  day's  dragging  torment,  he  balanced  a 
mental  account  in  which  he  itemized  on  one  side 
his  self-restraint,  its  pains  and  penances,  and  on  the 
other  Charlotte's  gradual  revelation  of  all  her  hidden 

[  219  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

loveableness.  At  first,  a  shadow  of  her  old  guard 
had  hung  about  her,  and  she  had  been  reserved ;  but 
reassured  by  his  frank  geniality  and  his  apparent 
desire  to  see  as  much  of  Collingwood  as  possible, 
she  gradually  relaxed  her  watchfulness,  and  ad- 
mitted him  to  the  place  of  a  tried  family  friend. 

One  warm  night,  when  the  MaclaughUns,  Kings- 
north,  and  the  oyster-agent  had  given  themselves 
up  to  the  delights  of  bridge,  the  other  three  strolled 
along  the  beach  till  they  came  to  an  old  banca  lying 
bottom  up  on  the  sand.  There  was  no  moon,  but 
the  stars  burned  steadily  overhead,  their  reflections 
rising  and  falling  with  each  slow  wave.  A  ghostly 
thread  of  white  fire  outlined  each  breaker  that  top- 
pled lazily  over,  and  the  gentle  succession  of 
splashes  was  like  a  deep  harmonic  accompaniment 
to  the  shrill  chorus  of  insect  life  which  burst  from 
the  grove  behind  them.  They  sat  and  listened  a 
long  while,  each  under  the  same  charm,  which  was 
a  different  charm.  It  was  Charlotte  who  first 
broke  the  silence. 

"In  spite  of  the  noise,  is  n't  it  still,  is  n't  it  lonely, 
isn't  it  delightful?"  she  said.  "It  is  like  a  sort 
of  Truce  of  God  thrown  into  our  lives  of  struggle 
and  overstrain." 

[  220  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"I  can  never  accustom  myself  to  those  sentiments 
from  you,  Mrs.  Collingwood,"  said  the  Judge. 
"To  me  you  seem  a  woman  so  eminently  fitted  to 
be  a  part  of  the  great  world,  that  I  cannot  under- 
stand your  getting  along  so  well  without  it.  It  is 
like  seeing  a  musician  trying  to  live  without  music, 
or  an  artist  without  pencils  and  brushes." 

"Charlotte  swam  out  into  the  big  world  and  got 
a  mouthful  of  salt  water,  and  it  made  her  sick," 
Martin  put  it.  He  fancied  the  Judge's  words  had 
reference  to  living  in  a  city  among  hordes  of  fel- 
low beings.  Of  society  as  a  fine  art,  Martin  had 
no  conception, 

"That 's  quite  true,  Martin;  but  it  is  n't  my  only 
reason  for  liking  our  present  life.  Your  *great 
world,'  Judge  Barton,  means  a  continual  drain 
upon  one's  tact  and  patience,  a  continual  smooth- 
ing over  of  difficulties,  of  forcing  oneself  to  adapt 
oneself  to  people  with  whom  one  has  no  real  sym- 
pathy. This  life  is  a  sort  of  moral  drifting,  with 
the  consciousness  that  the  current  moves  in  the  right 
direction.  The  other  world  is  full  of  experiences. 
One  passes  from  one  perception  to  another,  one's 
being  is  wrung  with  the  continual  play  of  warring 
emotions;  but  here  one  sits  down  quietly  to  digest 

[221] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

and  to  let  one's  soul  feed  on  the  food  one  has  gath- 
ered in  that  plethora  of  emotions." 

"I  wonder  if  you  know  how  aptly  you  illustrate 
your  theory." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have  grown,"  she  declared  tranquilly. 
"It  seems  to  me  my  horizon  has  broadened  infinitely 
while  I  have  been  here.  When  I  was  a  child  liv- 
ing in  a  convent,  we  internes  were  given  annually 
a  week  at  the  seashore.  Our  unfailing  recreation 
was  to  run  about  with  a  tin  pail  and  a  spade,  filling 
the  pail  with  sea-shells,  seaweed,  and  all  the  other 
seashore  treasures  which  children  delight  in.  And 
when  we  went  home,  I  remember  the  joy  I  had  in 
going  through  my  pail.  Things  flopped  in  so 
rapidly  during  the  day  that  I  hardly  knew  what 
was  there.  But  the  ecstasy  of  the  twilight  hour 
when  I  sorted  my  treasures!  My  life  here  has 
been  something  like  that  tin  pail  sorting-out.  I 
have  sat  down  to  review  impressions,  to  throw  away 
the  valueless,  to  classify  and  arrange  the  rest.  It 
has  been  a  priceless  experience." 

"Very  good;  but  you  don't  want  to  keep  it  up 
forever,"  remarked  CoUingwood. 

"I  fancy  Mrs.  CoUingwood  will  begin  construc- 
ting after  she  has  finished  sorting." 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"A  philosophy!  Remember  you  warned  me 
against  it.  Besides  I  have  my  doubts  of  a  philos- 
ophy's ever  being  satisfactory  to  a  woman.  For 
myself  I  have  no  hopes  of  ever  being  more  than  con- 
sistently inconsistent." 

"Your  demands  are  modest."  This  in  rather  an 
inscrutable  voice  from  the  Judge. 

"Do  you  really  think  so?  Have  you  not  learned 
that  really  modest  demands  on  life  are  like 
elegantly  simple  clothing,  the  most  expensive  to  be 
obtained?  Get  my  husband  to  tell  you  his  demands 
on  life,  and  you  will  hear  something  that  really  is 
modest." 

"Out  with  it,  Collingwood.  I  have  never  given 
you  credit  for  modest  demands." 

Colhngwood  puffed  out  two  rings  of  smoke,  and 
removed  his  cigar.  He  was  sitting  at  his  wife's 
feet  as  she  sat  on  the  banca,  and  he  leaned  his  head 
back  luxuriously  against  her  knee, 

"Above  five  millions  as  near  as  I  can  make  it  is 
my  figure.  I  might  do  with  more  if  I  could  get 
it,  but  I  don't  see  where  I  can  do  with  less." 

"And  you  call  that  modest!"  said  Judge  Barton 
ironically  to  Charlotte. 

"I  call  any  demand  on  life  modest  which  can  be 
[  223  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

expressed  in  dollars  and  cents.  But  Martin's  only 
modest  demand  is  for  the  five  millions.  He  has 
others  not  so  modest." 

"Name  one,"  challenged  Collingwood,  sitting  up 
in  some  surprise. 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Find  them  out 
for  yourself." 

"And  how  about  me?"  There  was  a  tone  almost 
of  abject  anxiety  in  Judge  Barton's  voice. 

"Ah,  you !  You  know  that  you  draw  sight  drafts 
on  the  universe  daily." 

"Which  are  seldom  honored,"  the  Judge  remarked 
somewhat  bitterly. 

"This  is  all  getting  blamed  mysterious  to  me," 
interrupted  Collingwood.  "I  wish  you  two  would 
talk  down  to  my  level." 

"Talk  up  to  it,  you  mean,"  replied  Charlotte 
good-naturedly.  "For  you  cannot  believe  for  an 
instant  that  the  irresponsible  demands  of  two  per- 
sons asking  for  the  impossible  are  to  be  put  on  a 
higher  level  than  a  practical  demand  like  yours 
that  can  be  expressed  in  figures,  even  if  it  runs  into 
seven.  You  ask  nothing  of  life,  Martin,  that  is  n't 
in  it;  while  those  drafts  of  Judge  Barton,  as  well 
as  my  own,  are  drawn  on  an  ideal  universe.     The 

[224] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Judge  and  I  are  not  content  with  things  as  they 
are.  We  do  not  own  up  often,  but  this  seems  a 
propitious  moment.  Deep  in  his  heart  each  of  us 
is  echoing  that  old  refrain  of  Omar's. 

"Ah  Love  1  could  you  and  I  with  Him  conspire 
To  grasp  this  sorry  Scheme  of  Things  entire, 
Would  not  we  shatter  it  to  bits — and  then 
Remould  it  nearer  to  the  Heart's  Desire !" 

"That 's  pretty.  Say  that  again,"  said  Martin ; 
and  she  repeated  it.  At  its  end  he  said  wistfully, 
"I  thought  you  and  I  had  our  hearts'  desires."  And 
Judge  Barton  broke  into  his  short,  ironical  laugh. 

"Don't  tell  me  my  husband  can't  make  pretty 
speeches,"  said  Charlotte. 

"He  clings  to  his  commercial  instincts,"  said  the 
Judge,  "for  he  asked  as  much  as  he  gave." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Martin.  "I  am  beginning 
to  be  proud  of  myself.  I  did  n't  know  I  gave  or 
asked.  I  thought  I  referred  to  things  that  are 
understood.  You  are  my  heart's  desire.  All  the 
rest  is  just  working,  and  being  glad  when  I  succeed, 
and  angry  when  I  fail.  It 's  taking  hard  knocks 
and  gritting  my  teeth  over  them,  and  saying  to 
myself  that  I  '11  blast  what  I  want  out  of  this 
IS  [  225  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

universe  yet.  That 's  just  living.  But  I  don't 
want  the  world  made  over.  It  suits  me  all  right, 
and  I  thought  it  suited  you." 

Judge  Barton's  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  vague  mov- 
ing mass  of  waters  before  them,  but  Charlotte 
fancied  she  could  detect  a  tense  interest  in  her  an- 
swer. 

"It  does  not  suit  me  altogether,"  she  replied 
slowly,  "but  if  Judge  Barton  will  forgive  an  ex- 
change of  conjugal  compliments,  I  '11  admit  that 
it  has  come  very  near  suiting  me,  since  I  married 
you.  My  little  burst  of  this  evening  is  an  echo 
of  a  former  self.  It 's  the  sort  of  thing  I  have 
said  so  much  in  my  life,  that  it  ripples  off  my  tongue 
through  force  of  habit  whenever  anyone  strikes  a 
harmonious  note.  And  now  I  am  going  in.  I  am 
tired  and  sleepy,  and  I  know  that  you  both  want 
to  talk  business." 

The  Judge  rose  as  she  did.  Martin  remained  on 
the  upturned  banca.  "I  '11  follow  you  before  long," 
he  said,  and  before  she  was  out  of  earshot  she  heard 
him  say,  "What  do  you  think  the  administration  is 
likely  to  do?"  The  rest  trailed  off  in  an  indistinct 
murmur;  but  she  smiled,  knowing  that  Philippine 
policy  was  uppermost. 

[226] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

The  next  morning  Judge  Barton  found  his  self- 
denying  spirit  in  the  minority,  and  a  very  insistent 
small  voice  demanding  a  reward  for  five  days  of 
self-immolation.  Secure  in  the  knowledge  of  his 
past  will-power,  and  confident  that  the  next  day 
would  see  him  off  the  island,  he  asked  himself  why 
there  was  any  need  of  sacrificing  himself  to  the 
heat  and  smeUs  of  another  day  on  the  launch.  He 
pleaded  a  headache,  ate  little  to  bear  evidence  to 
his  sincerity,  and  after  breakfast  retired  to  his  tent 
with  the  honest  intention  of  keeping  it  till  noon  at 
least  for  very  consistency's  sake.  Through  its  open 
sides,  he  could  view  Mrs.  CoUingwood  at  her  daily 
routine. 

She  came  out  upon  the  broad  veranda,  made  a 
minute  examination  of  the  flower-pots,  puUed  a  few 
dead  fronds  from  a  great  air-fern  which  hung  in 
one  of  the  windows,  and  cut  a  nosegay  from  the 
hedge  of  golden  cannas.  Afterwards  he  saw  her 
through  the  open  casement,  sitting  at  her  desk,  and 
apparently  making  entries  in  an  account  book.  At 
nine  o'clock,  six  or  eight  children  between  the  ages 
of  seven  and  fourteen  arrived  and  squatted  down 
on  the  veranda.  Charlotte  came  out  with  an  arm- 
ful of  books,  which  she  distributed;  and  with  the 

[  227  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

help  of  one  of  the  larger  hoys,  she  also  brought 
out  an  easel  on  which  was  a  rude  blackboard. 

At  this  point  the  Judge's  resolution  weakened. 
He  donned  a  coat  and  ambled  over  to  the  veranda. 
To  his  hostess's  somewhat  suspicious,  "Better  so 
soon?"  he  returned  an  honest  confession. 

"It  was  just  one  of  my  boyhood  headaches,"  he 
admitted,  "the  kind  that  used  to  keep  me  in  bed 
till  nine  o'clock,  when  school  had  taken  up.  Did 
you  never  have  that  sort  of  headache,  Mrs.  Colling- 
wood?" 

"Never.  I  was  a  conscientious  child,  though  I 
am  wilhng  to  admit  that  it  was  doubtless  a  great 
mistake  to  be  so.  Rufino,  begin."  And  Rufino 
began  chantingly : 

"E  see  a  cuf .  A  ball  is  in  de  cuf .  Srow  de  ball 
to  me."     He  paused  triumphantly. 

"/  see  a  cup,"  corrected  Charlotte.  **Say  it  after 
me  —  cup,  cwpy'  and  she  pronounced  the  final  con- 
sonant so  distinctly  that  Rufino  proceeded  without 
difficulty :  — 

"I  see  a  cuppa.  A  ball  is  in  de  cuppa.  Srow 
de  ball  to  me."  There  was  no  little  difficulty  in 
inducing  Rufino  to  say  throw,  and  he  did  not  suc- 
ceed until  Mrs.  CoUingwood  made  him  take  his 

[228] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

tongue  in  his  two  fingers  and  pull  it  through  his 
teeth,  preliminary  to  attacking  the  word.  His 
mates  took  exuberant  joy  in  this  feat,  and  the  next 
boy,  Wenceslao  de  los  Angeles,  started  out  glibly: 
*'I  see  a  cuppa.  A  ball  is  in  de  cuppa,"  and  then 
dropped  his  book,  gave  his  tongue  a  convulsive  jerk 
and  spluttered,  "Srow  de  cuppa  to  me." 

The  Judge  gurgled  as  helplessly  as  the  children 
did,  blushed,  tried  to  save  the  situation,  and  looked 
exceedingly  severe.  Mrs.  Collingwood,  a  httle 
flushed,  threw  him  a  protesting  glance,  smiled,  bit 
her  lip  and  went  on  with  the  reading  lesson.  When 
every  aspirant  had  had  a  chance  to  see  the  cup  and 
to  pull  his  tongue,  she  proceeded  to  "develop"  the 
lesson.  The  Judge  was  bored.  It  was  one  of  the 
miseries  of  his  strange  infatuation  for  her  that 
merely  being  with  her  or  able  to  watch  her  afforded 
him  no  satisfaction.  He  wanted  to  monopolize  her, 
to  keep  her  attention  constantly  centred  in  himself. 
If  this  feeling  was  Nature,  working  in  its  own  blind 
way  to  accomplish  what  the  man's  intellect  told  him 
could  not  be  done,  the  Judge  ruefully  reflected  that 
Nature  can  sometimes  keep  a  man  very  miserable, 
and  that  she  wastes  a  great  deal  of  human  eff*ort. 
For  whether  her  thoughts  were  with  him  or  away 

[229] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

from  him,  he  was  secretly  conscious  of  what  she 
had  told  her  husband,  that  there  was  for  her,  in 
one  sense,  but  one  man  in  the  world.  Her  old  sus- 
picion of  him  was  lulled,  and  she  stood  ready  for 
fair  honest  friendship;  but  there  never  had  been, 
in  one  glance  of  her  eye,  in  her  occasional  merry 
laugh,  or  in  her  frank  converse,  the  faintest  evidence 
of  that  sex  consciousness  which  is  in  no  wise  to  be 
confounded  with  social  self -consciousness,  but  which, 
as  an  element  in  woman's  entity,  is  the  only  pos- 
sible excuse  for  the  banalities  which  men  are  usually 
eager  to  exchange  with  them  by  the  hour. 

The  Judge  was  wearily  awaiting  the  close  of  the 
reading  lesson  when  he  received  another  disappoint- 
ment in  the  sight  of  numerous  physically  incom- 
moded individuals  who  strolled  up  by  detachments, 
and  squatted  at  the  foot  of  the  veranda  steps. 
There  was  a  consumptive  in  a  talebon,  or  hammock, 
in  which  the  sick  are  carried  about.  There  was  a 
small  boy  with  a  boil  on  his  kneecap.  He  had  plas- 
tered it  with  lime,  a  disinfectant  for  almost  all  skin 
troubles  in  the  Philippines;  and  he  alternately  felt 
it  gingerly,  and  glanced  apprehensively,  if  fas- 
cinatedly, in  the  direction  of  the  *'medequilla." 
There  were  ulcers,  and  yellow  jaundiced  folk  sufFer- 

[230] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

ing  with  a  seasonal  fever.  The  Judge  decided  that 
fully  one-fifth  of  the  island's  population  was  rep- 
resented in  the  assemblage,  and  he  gave  a  shrug  of 
commiseration  as  he  reflected  how  they  must  have 
suffered  unaided  before  the  coming  of  Charlotte. 

He  was  watching  her  somewhat  closely  as  she 
struggled  with  the  limited  understanding  of  one 
of  her  protegees,  when  she  glanced  down  the  beach, 
and  he  saw  a  great  tide  of  crimson  rush  to  her  cool, 
clear  skin.  Naturally  his  eyes  followed  hers,  but 
he  saw  approaching  only  a  rather  young  and  comely 
girl  carrying  a  young  child  in  her  arms.  He  had 
barely  time  to  perceive  this  when  Mrs.  Collingwood 
turned  to  him. 

"I  am  going  to  dismiss  my  class  and  take  these 
poor  people  next,  and  I  can't  let  you  assist  at  that. 
I  am  dreadfully  self-conscious  about  it  with  any  on- 
lookers. There  is  n't  any  evading  the  fact  that  it 
is  really  daring  on  my  part  to  attempt  to  play  phy- 
sician, and  nurse,  too;  but  something  has  to  be 
done  for  them.  But  I  really  couldn't  bear  an 
audience." 

"I  'm  off,"  said  the  Judge  with  a  laugh.  He  did 
not,  however,  turn  toward  his  tent,  which  would 
have  taken  him  away  from  the  approaching  girl, 

[  231  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

but  swung  briskly  down  the  sand  in  the  direction 
from  which  she  was  advancing. 

She  greeted  him  with  the  customary  civility  of 
Filipinos,  and  he  vouchsafed  her  a  nod.  He  dared 
not  stop  and  speak  to  her,  but  he  made  directly 
for  the  native  village,  a  mile  away,  where  he  asked 
the  headman  who  she  was.  When  he  had  extracted 
the  full  details  of  the  story,  he  turned  and  strolled 
slowly  back.  But  he  did  not  rejoin  Mrs.  Colling- 
wood.  He  went,  instead,  to  his  tent,  where  he  sat 
gazing  meditatively  across  the  sea  while  he  turned 
over  and  over  the  facts  that  he  had  heard. 

She  had  compromised  with  life  with  a  vengeance! 
He  felt  that  she  had  gone  far  when  he  beheld  the 
Maclaughlins  and  Kingsnorth.  But  to  live  openly 
in  daily  converse  with  such  a  man,  to  sit  at  the  table 
with  him,  and  to  minister  to  the  needs  of  his  illegit- 
imate child  —  that  was  carrying  tolerance  or 
charity  to  a  length  unprecedented.  He  made  no 
allowance  for  the  fact  that  she  found  herself  con- 
fronted with  a  situation  in  which  to  take  action  was 
to  risk  her  domestic  happiness.  What  he  scorned 
in  her  was  the  fact  that  she  could  be  happy  under 
such  circumstances.  He  knew  very  well  that 
women  put  up  with  worse  in  the  very  circles  which 

[  232  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

he  was  struggling  so  desperately  to  attain;  but  he 
knew  also  the  veil  of  decent  concealment  which 
those  circles  know  so  well  how  to  assume.  He  had 
to  admit,  also,  that  she  had  proved  more  of  a 
philosopher  than  he  had  given  her  credit  for  being, 
and  she  had  dared  to  reprove  him  for  his  gibe,  and 
he  had  apologized  with  God  knows  what  of  con- 
trition! The  hunter  instinct  that  is  so  strong  in 
all  men  rose  up  in  him;  and  suddenly  he  realized 
why  he  had  so  remorselessly  wounded  her  and  tor- 
mented her  in  those  early  days  of  their  acquain- 
tance. It  was  that  deep  in  his  mind  had  lain  the 
desire  for  her,  which  still  held,  but  which  then  he 
had  been  unwilling  to  gratify  by  marriage;  and 
proportionally  as  he  had  felt  that  she  was  out  of  his 
reach  and  that  he  dared  not  insult  her  by  one  sign 
of  sentimentaUty  unbacked  by  the  desire  of  mar- 
riage, he  had  hated  her  with  the  smouldering  hatred 
of  balked  affection.  Well,  he  loved  her  still,  and 
he  was  willing  to  marry  her.  If  she  could  get  rid 
of  Collingwood,  he  was  willing  to  marry  her.  He 
hardly  doubted  that  she  would  do  it.  He  felt  pretty 
sure  of  the  motives  which  had  made  her  marry  the 
young  ruffian,  who  had,  he  admitted,  improved  con- 
siderably under  her  hands.     She  was  a  feminine 

[233] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

creature  in  spite  of  her  brains,  unable  to  face  life 
without  love,  and  she  had  been  grateful  to  the  man 
who  offered  it  to  her,  and  had  given  her  the  shelter 
of  his  roof.  But  that  any  woman  of  Charlotte 
Collingwood's  breeding  would  deliberately  prefer 
Martin  ColUngwood  to  a  man  of  her  own  class, 
Judge  Alexander  Barton  declined  to  beheve.  Nor 
was  he  altogether  wrong.  She  might  not  have 
taken  CoUingwood  in  the  beginning,  had  the  Judge 
been  his  honest  rival  at  that  time.  But  having 
taken  him,  she  had  no  intention  of  questioning  her 
bargain.  The  Judge  read  her  very  correctly  up 
to  that  point  of  secret  loyalty  and  gratitude,  which 
to  a  man  of  his  ambitions  was  outside  the  possibil- 
ities of  human  nature. 

Why  should  she  not,  he  asked  himself,  get  rid 
of  CoUingwood  without  scandal  and  marry  him. 
She  was  a  woman  to  be  proud  of.  He  had  seen 
her  at  her  husband's  table  and  knew  that  she  graced 
it.  There  must  be  somewhere  in  the  United  States 
an  influential  kindred  who  might  not  care  to  make 
too  much  of  her  as  a  nurse,  but  who  would  be  glad 
to  welcome  the  wife  of  an  eminent  jurist;  and  with 
proper  family  backing,  the  Judge  saw  many  things. 
Why  not  a  commissionership,  yes,  a  governorship? 

[234] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

And  then  (for  everybody  knows  that  a  Governoi 
of  the  Philippines  has  a  great  chance  to  keep  in 
the  public  eye)  why  not  something  better  by-and- 
by?  The  Judge's  visions  grew  more  rosy  than  it 
is  safe  to  chronicle  here. 

Strange  it  was  that  his  week  of  intimate  associa- 
tion had  not  shown  him  the  utter  futility  and  mad- 
ness of  thinking  to  approach  Mrs.  Collingwood  with 
the  audacious  plan  he  had  in  mind.  Partly,  his 
own  passion  blinded  his  judgment;  partly,  he  had 
so  long  been  accustomed  to  the  society  of  women 
to  whom  social  preferment  is  the  end  of  life  that  he 
had  lost  sight  of  the  stronger  and  nobler  elements 
of  character  that  can  live  in  the  feminine  breast. 
To  be  just  to  the  society  in  which  the  Judge  moved, 
there  was  a  very  fair  sprinkling  of  noble  women 
within  it,  but  his  restless  ambition  drove  him  into 
intimacy  with  those  who  could  understand  him  and 
sympathize  without  the  necessity  of  explanations. 

The  result  of  his  musings  was  that  he  went  to 
luncheon  in  a  dangerous  mood.  It  had  full  op- 
portunity to  show  itself,  for  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  did 
not  appear.  She  sent  word  that  she  had  been  en- 
gaged in  the  poultry  yard  all  morning,  had  bathed 
late,  and  would  prefer  taking  her  luncheon  in  her 

[  235  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

wrapper  at  home.  As  the  Judge  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  drying  her  rather  wiry  gray  tresses 
in  the  sunshine  of  a  window,  he  was  able  to  cor- 
roborate her  statement;  and  Charlotte  laughed  as 
she  gave  orders  for  the  preparation  of  the  tray. 

"You  can  be  trusted  to  see  all  things  that  you 
are  not  wanted  to  see,"  she  added. 

Then  the  Judge  went  point-blank  and  very  in- 
discreetly at  the  matter  in  his  mind.  "Was  that 
why  you  sent  me  away  this  morning?"  he  inquired. 

For  an  instant  her  face  flamed,  and  then  the  color 
left  it  white,  with  an  angry  gleam  in  her  eyes.  She 
played  with  her  teaspoon  a  minute,  and  then  she 
asked  him  a  civil  question  about  his  impressions  of 
her  school.  It  was  his  turn  to  flush.  The  rebuke 
was  the  more  scathing  for  its  silence.  His  tem- 
per rose,  and  even  in  that  instant  he  found  time 
to  wonder  why  he  should  have  such  an  infatuation 
for  a  woman  who  had  such  power  to  enrage  him. 

"Why  do  you  stand  it?"  he  asked, 

Charlotte  was  dumfounded.  She  had  her  hos- 
pital patient  on  her  hands  again,  when  she  had 
imagined,  for  nearly  a  week,  that  she  had  found 
a  friend.  Mechanically  she  pushed  a  dish  of  can- 
died fruits    (they  were  at  dessert)    toward  him. 

[236] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"These  are  quite  fine,"  she  said  quietly.  "You  had 
better  try  them  and  then  have  your  cigar.  Mean- 
while I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  My  cook 
awaits  dinner  directions." 

She  was  rising,  but  he  reached  a  hand  across  and 
seized  hers  as  it  rested  on  the  table  edge. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  put  this  scene  off?"  he 
demanded.  "You  have  got  to  listen.  You  had  no 
business  to  marry  CoUingwood  in  the  first  place. 
It  is  time  the  thing  came  to  an  end." 

Mrs.  Collingwood  very  quietly  pulled  her  hand 
out  of  his  grasp. 

"So,"  she  said.  She  had  the  air  of  one  who  finds 
herself  incarcerated  with  a  madman.  Judge  Bar- 
ton leaned  far  across  the  table,  his  eyes  gleaming, 
his  rather  large,  powerful  face  flushed,  all  the  brute 
strength  of  the  man  dominating  the  urbane  jurist 
who  said  clever  things  in  a  rich,  well-modulated 
voice. 

"You  had  no  business  to  marry  him  in  the  first 
place,"  he  said.  "But  that 's  done.  Still  you  can 
change  it." 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Collingwood,  a  very  level 
intonation  of  contempt  in  her  tone.  It  irritated 
the  Judge,  and  his  vehemence  rose  higher. 

[  237  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Anything  can  be  changed  in  these  days,"  he 
went  on.  "I  want  you  to  divorce  Collingwood  and 
to  marry  me." 

"Well,  I  shan't,"  said  Mrs.  CoUingwood.  She 
did  not  offer  to  rise,  however.  Her  heart  was  swell- 
ing with  anger,  humiliation,  and  a  dull  disappoint- 
ment in  the  man  in  front  of  her.  But  some  un- 
accountable instinct  held  her  listening  to  the  end. 
She  did  want  to  hear  what  he  would  say,  she  knew 
it  would  wound  her,  but  she  had  a  very  strong 
curiosity  as  to  how  far  he  would  go ;  and  a  retrospect 
of  all  her  past  association  with  him  flashed  through 
her  mind.  A  faint  smile  curved  her  lips  as  she 
remembered  the  weeks  when  he  had  been  free,  had 
he  so  chosen,  to  make  love  to  her.  But  he  had  not 
wanted  to  make  love  to  her,  till,  in  the  making,  he 
violated  all  the  laws  of  right  and  loyalty.  She  sat 
very  white  and  rigid,  and  the  Judge  felt  in  her  once 
again  the  woman  who  had  challenged  his  old  self- 
complacency. 

"I  suppose  it  was  natural,"  he  went  on.  "You 
were  alone.  You  had  to  have  your  romance.  But 
what  will  it  be  to  ours?  —  to  ours?  I  '11  be  a  lover 
to  rival  the  lovers  of  history  —  a  husband  —  and 
we  '11  do  some  of  the  things  we  want  to  do  in  this 

[  238  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

world.  We  have  ambitions,  both  of  us.  Dear  — '* 
his  voice  dropped  like  a  violin  note  on  the  octave  — ■ 
"take  the  same  courage  you  had  in  hand  to  make 
this  mistake,  and  remedy  it.  You  defied  public 
opinion  in  marrying  Collingwood.  Defy  it  once 
again  to  get  rid  of  him.  The  world  will  understand 
you  better.  Yes,  by  Jove!  it  will  sympathize 
more." 

"I  shall  not  test  it,"  said  Mrs.  Collingwood. 
This  time  she  rose  definitely.  "I  thank  God  you 
are  going  away  to-morrow.  The  very  air  will  be 
freer  and  cleaner  after  you  have  gone." 

He  stood  looking  after  her,  red-eyed,  enraged, 
yet  longing  with  all  the  fierce  strength  of  his  nature 
to  seize  her  in  his  arms  and  conquer  her  as  Martin 
Collingwood  had  once  conquered  her.  When  he 
heard  the  snap  of  her  closing  door,  he  fell  into  a 
sort  of  stupor,  still  sitting  at  the  table,  his  head  rest- 
ing on  his  clasped  hands. 

The  vehement  forceful  fury  of  his  mood  fell 
away  from  him,  and  he  sat  staring  haggardly  at 
the  white  cloth.  The  act  was  final,  and  having 
committed  it,  he  had  full  opportunity  to  question 
its  discretion.  Strange  tragedy  of  temperament, 
forcing  eye  and  voice  to  utterance  which  no  himian 

[  239  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

power  can  revoke,  though  life  itself  would  be 
reckoned  a  fair  price  for  revocation!  Sitting 
there  alone  with  his  thoughts,  Alexander  Barton 
was  conscious  of  a  shame  that  would  stay  with  him 
for  life,  of  a  futile  hopeless  anger  and  despair  with 
himself,  of  an  ache  that  would  take  the  taste  out 
of  Kf e  for  many  a  month  and  year  to  come. 

Meanwhile,  Charlotte  had  passed  into  her  room, 
where  she  stood  very  quietly  looking  out  of  the 
window.  Her  heart  lay  heavy  within  her,  and  a 
dull,  gripping  pain  tugged  at  her  throat.  She  had 
a  sense  of  having  been  morally  bruised  and  beaten. 
For  she  saw  with  painful  distinctness,  that  it  was 
not  only  brute  feeling  which  had  carried  away 
Judge  Barton's  self-control;  but  that  deeper,  sub- 
tler was  his  measurement  of  the  compromise  she 
had  made  with  life.  It  was  not  Charlotte  Colhng- 
wood's  personality,  it  was  what  she  had  done  that 
opened  the  way  to  his  advances. 

After  a  time  she  lay  down,  and  she  remained  so 
for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  with  her  face  buried 
in  her  pillow.  How  was  she  to  face  Martin  with 
the  wretched  story?  How  was  she  to  dissemble  her 
own  misery?     She  was  a  fair  actress  to  the  world, 

[  ^40  ] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

taking  refuge  in  a  kind  of  stoic  dignity.  But  how 
was  she  to  hide  her  embarrassment  and  misery  from 
the  man  who  could  measure  her  moods  as  a  barom- 
eter measures  pressure? 


16 


[^41] 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  evening  meal  passed  off  more  easily 
than  had  seemed  possible  to  Mrs.  Col- 
lingwood's  disturbed  imagination.  Judge 
Barton  managed  to  appear  perfectly  at  ease,  and 
she  played  her  own  part  better  than  she  had  fancied 
that  she  could.  Only  one  dread  preyed  upon  her. 
There  was  a  readiness  in  Kingsnorth  to  devote  him- 
self to  the  entertainment  of  the  guests,  and  a  tact 
on  his  part  in  holding  the  household  together  which 
made  her  suspect  that  keen  observer  of  a  desire  to 
aid  her;  and  such  a  desire  could  only  lead  to  the 
inference  that  he  had,  to  some  extent,  grasped  the 
situation.  The  thought  was  galling;  but  its  bitter- 
ness was,  for  the  time,  mitigated  by  her  sense  of 
need. 

She  slept  little  that  night,  but  toward  morning 
she  fell  into  a  doze  from  which  she  was  aroused 
by  the  sounds  of  breakfast  preparations  in  the  next 
room.  She  jumped  up  hurriedly,  only  to  behold 
the  bathers  sporting  in  the  sea,  and  the  coastguard 

[242] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

cutter  lying  a  nule  or  so  off  shore.  Dressing  as 
quickly  as  she  could  she  hastened  down  to  the  beach 
in  time  to  meet  the  Commissioner  as  he  came 
ashore. 

The  Commissioner's  first  rush  of  enthusiasm  had 
had  time  to  cool,  and  he  had  thought  much  dur- 
ing his  week's  absence.  Without  in  the  least  abat- 
ing his  very  high  opinion  of  Mrs.  CoUingwood's 
personality  and  attainments,  he  had  had  time  to 
consider  the  possible  attitude  of  Mrs.  Commissioner, 
and  the  difficulties  attendant  upon  too  close  a  con- 
nection with  the  queer  island  menage.  The  result 
of  his  reflections  was  a  self-conscious  restraint,  and 
a  very  bungling  masculine  attempt  to  recede  from 
a  position  without  betraying  himself  in  the  act. 

Charlotte  read  his  self -consciousness  aright,  ig- 
nored the  existence  of  a  Mrs.  Commissioner,  saved 
his  feelings  for  him,  and  bore  him  no  grudge.  She 
had  accepted  her  husband's  associates  kindly  for 
his  sake ;  but  she  had  never  ceased  to  look  upon  them 
with  the  clear  vision  of  her  upbringing.  Socially 
Kingsnorth  and  the  Maclaughlins  were  "impos- 
sible." It  mattered  little  to  her,  because  she  had 
turned  her  back  forever  upon  society  and  all  its 
works.     She  even  took  satisfaction  in  playing  her 

[243] 


The  Locusts^  Tears 

part  gracefully.  She  enjoyed  the  Commissioner's 
mystification,  and  the  little  access  of  deference  in 
his  manner  when  he  spoke  to  her. 

She  was  saved  the  necessity  of  any  direct  speech 
with  the  Judge,  till,  at  the  very  last  moment,  he 
snatched  a  second  while  the  others  were  grouped 
around  the  Commissioner. 

"I  don't  dare  put  out  a  hand,"  he  said,  "and  I 
suppose  you  won't  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I 
am  sorry,  and  that  I  didn't  sleep  last  night  for 
execrating  myself.  I  am  sorry  in  the  dullest, 
heart-sickest  way  a  man  can  be.  I  knew  as  well  be- 
fore I  said  those  things  as  I  know  now  that  it  would 
not  do  me  any  good,  and  yet  they  had  to  come  out. 
Well,  I  've  lost  a  friend.  But  do  you  suppose  you 
can  ever  think  kindly  of  me  again?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  him  for  one  of  those  slow 
painful  glances  that  she  sometimes  gave,  and  she 
answered  measuredly: 

"I  don't  think  unkindly  of  you  on  my  own  ac- 
count. Somehow  the  thing  has  no  bearing  on  me. 
I  have  seen  you  in  the  proper  light,  and  I  do  not 
think  you  are  worth  thinking  unldndly  about.  But 
for  my  husband's  sake  I  shall  always  feel  a  resent- 
ment.    He  gave  you  shelter  under  his  roof,  and 

[^44] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

a  seat  at  his  table ;  and  in  turn  you  would  have  be- 
trayed him.  On  his  account,  I  shall  always  feel 
anger,  but  for  me  you  are  just  —  erased." 

"You  can  say,  at  least,  as  bitter  things  as  other 
women,"  the  Judge  retorted  with  pale  lips.  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders  lightly  and  extended  a  very 
high  hand. 

"It  has  been  such  a  pleasure  to  have  you  with  us," 
she  said  quite  distinctly.  Her  eyes  met  his  im- 
flinchingly,  but  his  own  were  bright  with  moisture. 
He  wrung  her  hand  in  spite  of  its  high  bent  wrist. 

"No,  don't  do  that,"  he  said.  "Give  me  a  good 
honest  handshake.  I  'm  sorry.  I  shall  be  sorry  for 
some  time  to  come.  Besides  — "  his  expressive  pause 
said  as  plainly  as  words,  "You  have  conducted 
yourself  admirably.  The  thing  has  done  you  no 
harm." 

Collingwood  saw  the  shrug,  the  look  exchanged, 
and  the  handshake.  He  perceived  war  in  his 
wife's  manner,  and  he  wondered  what  it  was  all 
about.  But  as  the  Commissioner  was  already 
seating  himself  in  the  human  chair  to  be  carried 
out  to  the  boat  there  was  no  time  to  ask  questions 
then.  He  was  still  more  surprised  when  his  wife 
came  up  to  him,  and  shpping  a  hand  in  his,  stood 

[245] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

watching  the  departing  dignitary.  Charlotte  had 
a  horror  of  public  demonstrations,  and  the  act  was 
unlike  her.  He  slipped  an  arm  around  her,  glanc- 
ing, as  he  did  so,  somewhat  sheepishly  at  his  other 
guests;  but  the  Judge  was  apparently  absorbed  in 
the  process  of  turning  up  the  bottoms  of  an  ex- 
ceedingly well  made  pair  of  trousers  before  em- 
barking in  turn;  and,  as  he  was  carried  out,  his 
anxiety  to  protect  a  pair  of  spotless  shoes  seemed 
superior  to  every  other  consideration. 

When  the  guests  were  once  aboard  their  boat, 
the  fishers  made  haste  to  embark  in  their  own ;  and 
Mrs.  Collingwood,  with  a  hasty  wave  of  her  hand, 
turned  immediately  and  went  indoors. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  she  entered 
her  little  sitting-room.  There  was  a  sort  of  clear- 
ing in  the  atmosphere,  a  sense  of  wholesomeness 
and  content  in  having  their  lives  to  themselves. 
She  passed  lovingly  from  one  piece  of  furniture  to 
another,  giving  a  touch  here,  making  some  slight 
change  there.  Her  housekeeping  cares  became  a 
renewed  pleasure.  All  day  she  busied  herself  about 
house  and  mending,  laying  aside  wholly  the  books 
and  magazines  which,  for  several  hours  each  day, 
had  been  her  wonted  entertainment.     When  Mar- 

IU6} 


The  Locusts'  Years 

tin  came  home  at  five  o'clock,  she  met  him,  a  radiant 
creature,  eyes  smiling,  face  beaming  content,  her 
laugh  spontaneous  as  a  child's.  He  was  inclined 
to  be  lonely,  and  said  as  much  at  dinner.  Mrs. 
Maclaughlin  agreed  with  him,  but  Maclaughlin  and 
Kingsnorth  went  over  to  Charlcftte's  side,  and  in- 
sisted that  things  were  cosier  with  their  own  little 
family. 

After  dinner,  husband  and  wife  sat  on  their 
veranda  steps  while  Martin  smoked  a  pipe  or  two. 
He  was  very  thoughtful,  she  silently  content. 
Suddenly  he  broke  out: 

"Charlotte,  did  you  and  the  Judge  quarrel?" 

Charlotte  started  perceptibly  and  answered  after 
a  decided  pause: 

"What  makes  you  think  we  did?" 

"I  saw  your  handshake." 

He  felt  rather  than  saw  another  little  shrug.  It 
was  a  reckless  gesture.  Charlotte  wanted  very 
much  to  quarrel  with  her  little  gods  just  then.  She 
kept  silence,  however,  and  he  was  forced  to  go  on 
insistently. 

"Did  he  try  to  make  love  to  you?" 

There  was  a  miserable  humor  in  her  reply. 
"Not  in  your  acceptance  of  the  term,  Martin." 

[247] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Well,  what  is  my  acceptance  of  the  term?  I 
should  like  to  know  what  you  mean  by  that." 

'*He  did  not  put  his  arm  around  my  waist  or  try 
to  kiss  me." 

"Then  what  were  you  scrapping  with  him  for?" 
said  Martin  with  such  instant  relief  that  Charlotte 
laughed  helplessly,  though  the  tears  were  rolling 
down  her  cheeks.  Martin  studied  her  intently 
through  the  gloom. 

"There  's  something  behind  all  this,"  he  remarked 
sententiously.  "I  never  before  knew  you  to  dodge 
a  question,  or  to  be  in  such  a  mood.  Now,  see 
here,  I  've  got  some  rights  in  this  matter  and  I  want 
to  know  about  it." 

His  tone  brought  her  up  sharp  in  her  half -hys- 
terical mirth.     She  replied  quickly. 

"You  will  not  like  it,  Martin." 

"I  '11  have  to  decide  that." 

"Well,  if  nothing  but  the  truth  will  do,  he  pro- 
posed to  me  that  I  should  get  rid  of  you  and  marry 
him." 

Collingwood  threw  down  his  cigar  with  an  oath, 
and  jumped,  in  the  sudden  rush  of  his  anger,  quite 
clear  of  the  steps.     He  made  several  short,  quick 

[248] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

turns  back  and  forth  before  he  finally  sat  down 
again  at  his  wife's  side. 

**I  suppose  he  had  some  reason  for  thinking  you 
might  entertain  such  a  proposition,"  he  said  bit- 
terly. 

Charlotte's  pride  sprang  to  arms.  "He  may  have 
had  one,"  she  replied  laconically.  "It  was  not  in 
any  glance  or  words  I  had  given  him.  I  have  n't 
been  flirting  with  him.    My  conscience  is  clear." 

"But  men  don't  make  propositions  of  that  sort 
without  a  reason,  Charlotte." 

Again  she  said  nothing.  The  answer  was  burn- 
ing on  her  lips.  "You  are  the  reason.  The  as- 
sociates you  have  given  me  here  are  the  reasons." 
But  she  maintained  silence.  Collingwood  was 
angered  by  what  he  thought  her  obstinacy. 

"Well,  what  was  the  reason?"  he  demanded. 

"He  thought  I  might  be  ambitious." 

It  was  an  honest  answer  and  as  generous  as  it  was 
frank.  But  Collingwood  was  in  no  mood  to  meas- 
ure generosity. 

"And  you  let  him  get  away  without  giving  me 
a  chance  to  kick  him  into  the  Sulu  Sea,"  he  re- 
proached her. 

[249] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

"I  did.  The  greatest  fear  I  had  was  that  he 
would  not  get  away  without  your  doing  it.  Sup- 
pose you  had  kicked  him  —  as  you  are  quite 
capable  of  doing  —  and  he  had  kicked  back.  One 
or  the  other  would  have  been  hurt.  Suppose  it 
had  been  you,  do  you  think  I  should  have  enjoyed 
seeing  you  suffer?  Or  suppose  you  had  hurt  him, 
do  you  think  it  would  have  been  a  satisfaction  to 
me  to  know  that  you  had  fought  for  me,  and  had 
to  be  punished  for  it?  Do  I  want  my  husband  in 
jail  or  maimed  for  rebuking  an  insolence  that  I 
could  handle  myself?  I  defended  your  dignity  and 
mine,  and  Judge  Barton  has  been  a  thousand  times 
more  rebuked  by  my  tongue  than  he  would  have 
been  by  your  fists." 

With  this  speech  and  with  the  memory  of  her 
shrug  and  handshake,  Martin's  kindling  jealousy 
had  to  be  temporarily  extinguished.  He  returned 
with  a  more  conciKating  manner  to  the  charge. 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  you  said  to  him." 

But  Charlotte  could  suffer  no  more.  "Don't 
ask  me,  don't  ask  me,"  she  implored.  She  rose  and 
walked  away.  The  action  was  the  result  of  life- 
long habit.  She  had  never  allowed  herself  to  in- 
dulge in  emotion  before  others,  and  she  had  exer- 

[250] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

cised  almost  the  will  of  a  red  Indian  to  refrain 
from  giving  way  to  an  overwhelming  burst  of 
tears;  but  when,  after  she  had  regained  some  con- 
trol of  herself,  her  thoughts  returned  to  CoUing- 
wood,  a  sense  of  bitter  disappointment  in  him 
mingled  with  her  self-pity. 

He  had  not  followed  her!  He  had  shown  her 
no  sympathy  in  her  momentary  outburst  of  un- 
happiness.  She  was  conscious  of  never  having  de- 
served better  of  his  loyalty  and  sympathy,  and  she 
had  never  received  less !  She  finally  took  up  a  book 
and  endeavored  to  read,  but  her  heart  was  sick  with 
wounded  love  and  pride.  She  found  old  feelings 
that  she  had  believed  scourged  out  of  her  being  ris- 
ing in  tumultuous  violence.  There  was  the  feel- 
ing of  outraged  pride  and  sensibility,  the  swelling 
sense  of  injustice,  and  a  blind  twisting  and  turning 
to  see  a  way  out  of  the  situation.  Suddenly  that 
which  the  Judge  had  proposed  leaped  back  into 
her  mind.  The  ear  which  had  been  deaf  to  him 
when  he  appealed  to  her  ambitions  became  sensi- 
tively alive  to  a  whisper  when  that  whisper  prom- 
ised succor  from  distaste.  She  was  frightened  at 
her  own  attitude  and  took  herself  severely  to  task. 
She  said  to  herself  that  she  was  morbid,  that  Mar- 

[  251  ] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

tin  had  every  right  to  be  displeased  with  her,  for 
she  had  denied  him  frankness;  but  even  as  she 
ranged  these  weights  in  her  mind's  eye  the  scale 
tipped  lower  and  lower  with  the  weight  of  his  dis- 
pleasure. 

Live  under  the  bane  of  his  anger  she  could  not. 
The  tentative  overtures,  the  timid  looks  or  glances, 
the  humility  with  which  less  spirited  women  pro- 
pitate  an  injured  deity  were  foreign  to  her  nature; 
but  equally  she  was  not  calloused,  as  many  women 
are,  to  conjugal  frowns. 

All  the  self-confidence  which  she  had  gained  in 
months  of  happiness  was  jolted  out  of  her  at  Mar- 
tin's first  angry  word.  Another  woman  might  have 
turned  his  wrath  away  with  a  laugh,  might  have 
nestled  her  hand  into  his  with  a  whisper  and  a  kind 
look;  but  it  was  not  in  Charlotte  CoUingwood  to 
offer  a  caress  to  an  angry  husband.  It  would  have 
been  to  her  an  act  beyond  the  pale  of  decency.  Her 
heart  harbored  no  revenge.  Every  moment  as  she 
sat  listening  for  his  step,  she  justified  his  resent- 
ment, she  told  herself  over  and  over  that  she  had 
no  tact  and  no  consideration,  and  that  Martin  was 
an  abused  husband;  but  to  have  risen  and  sought 
him  when  he  was  plainly  averse  to  her  society 

[252] 


m 


The  Locusts^  Years 

would  have  seemed  to  her  the  acme  of  unwomanli- 
ness. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  CoUingwood  was  pacing  the 
sands.  His  temper  was  seething.  He  did  not  un- 
derstand the  situation,  and  the  more  he  realized  his 
inability  to  understand  it,  the  higher  rose  his  de- 
sire to  hold  somebody  accountable.  There  was  no 
doubting  the  sincerity  of  Charlotte's  words,  "I  have 
not  been  flirting  with  him,"  but  Martin  Colling- 
wood  thought  there  had  to  be  a  reason  for  such  a 
radical  step  on  the  part  of  so  conservative  a  man 
as  the  Judge.  Then  there  was  the  fact  that  the 
Judge  had  departed  without  that  closer  acquain- 
tance with  Martin  CoUingwood's  footwear.  To  a 
man  of  CoUingwood's  temperament,  being  balked 
of  the  physical  pleasures  of  revenge  was  worse  even 
than  the  sting  of  the  affront.  Why  had  not  Char- 
lotte told  him?  She  had  clearly  not  meant  to  tell 
him.  She  had  meant  to  let  him  go  on  shaking  that 
viper  by  the  hand  when  they  met.  But  why?  Ah, 
that  why! 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  he  entered  his 
home.  His  wife  was  asleep  or  pretended  to  be  so; 
and  when  he  awoke  late,  after  a  troubled  sleep,  he 
found  her  dressed  and  gone.     From  the  adjoining 

[253] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

room,  the  clinking  of  cups  and  saucers  told  him 
that  breakfast  was  going  on. 

Collingwood  dressed  quickly  and  went  in  to 
breakfast  wearing  an  unpleasant  face.  After  one 
quick  glance,  Charlotte  gave  him  a  smiling  good 
morning,  to  which  he  vouchsafed  a  surly  reply. 

Kingsnorth  remarked:  "I  thought  I  should 
have  to  go  to  work  without  you,  old  man.  Mrs. 
Collingwood  would  not  have  you  waked.  She 
made  us  talk  in  whispers  and  eat  in  parenthesis,  as 
it  were." 

"All  tom-foohshness,"  said  Martin.  "I  am  no 
six-weeks-old  baby.  You  let  me  oversleep  like  this 
again,"  he  added,  addressing  the  muchacho,  "and 
I  '11  beat  you  with  a  dog  whip." 

Then  electrically  everybody  knew  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  in  the  Collingwood  household. 
Mrs.  Maclaughlin  stole  a  frightened  look  at  Char- 
lotte whose  face  flamed,  Maclaughlin  stared  first 
at  Collingwood  and  then  at  his  wife,  and  finally 
turned  his  wondering  eyes  on  Kingsnorth,  who  met 
his  gaze  with  an  eye  about  as  intelligent  as  that  of 
an  oculist's  advertisement.  A  moment  later  Char- 
lotte addressed  some  trifling  remark  to  Kingsnorth 
who  answered  with  a  suspicious  readiness,  and  they 

[254] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

fell  into  conversation  unshared  by  the  rest  of  the 
table. 

Collingwood  continued  to  gloom  after  the  Mac- 
laughlins  and  Kingsnorth,  who  had  nearly  finished 
when  he  appeared,  had  excused  themselves.  Char- 
lotte sat  on  profoundly  uncomfortable.  She  had 
no  words  in  which  to  address  his  frowning  majesty, 
but  she  was  heartsick.  She  rose  at  last,  saying,  "If 
you  will  excuse  me,  Martin,  I  will  leave  you  to  finish 
alone.  I  forgot  about  those  launch  supplies;"  and 
she  made  her  errand  in  the  kitchen  detain  her  until 
she  saw  the  launch  puffing  lazily  across  the  blue, 
sparkling  water. 

She  went  back  to  her  room  and  lay  down  half 
nauseated  with  the  misery  surging  within  her. 
Nothing  in  her  experience  had  prepared  her  to  meet 
the  emergency  she  was  confronting.  She  came  of  a 
family  to  whom  the  scene  which  had  taken  place 
in  her  breakfast-room  could  be  possible  only  as  a 
definite,  final  act  of  estrangement.  She  was  as  ut- 
terly ignorant  of  those  persons  who  alternately 
frown  and  smile  and  betray  joy  or  sorrow  unthink- 
ingly to  the  world  as  JNIartin  was  ignorant  of  the 
jealous  guarding  of  appearances  which  pertained  to 
her  world.     It  never  once  occurred  to  her  that  Mar- 

[  255  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

tin  could  publicly  affront  her  at  breakfast  and  for- 
get all  about  it  before  dinner. 

Yet  that  is  precisely  what  he  did.  The  day's 
work  restored  his  natural  sunny  self.  He  dis- 
missed the  Judge  from  his  mind  with  the  mental 
reservation  of  kicking  him  on  sight;  and  when  he 
came  home  that  night,  he  strode  up  the  steps,  caught 
his  wife  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  as  naturally  as 
if  they  had  not,  that  very  morning,  omitted  that 
lover's  benediction  for  the  first  time  since  their  mar- 
riage. 

He  made  no  apology  for  his  late  spleen.  Truth 
is,  he  hardly  thought  of  it  as  affecting  her.  She 
clung  to  him  as  he  kissed  her,  and  he  saw  that  she 
was  pale  and  her  eyes  heavily  lidded;  but  he  asked 
her  no  questions.  She  had  had,  in  truth,  a  hard 
day.  As  soon  as  the  glowering  man  body  was 
safely  out  of  the  way,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  came  over, 
bent  on  extracting  information.  In  her  life  and 
in  the  lives  of  most  of  her  friends,  connubial  diffi- 
culties meant  neighborhood  confidences  and  lamen- 
tations. Charlotte  parried  her  hints  and,  to  a 
point-blank  question,  returned  a  look  so  rebuking 
that  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  went  home  in  high  dudgeon. 
For  the  rest  of  the  day,  Charlotte  struggled  against 

[256] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

the  tears  that  would  have  betrayed  her  —  struggled 
till  her  eyeballs  ached  and  her  weary  head  seemed 
drawn  back  upon  her  shoulders. 

At  dinner  Kingsnorth  stole  one  furtive  glance, 
said  to  himself  * 'Thoroughbred,  by  Jove,"  and  bent 
himself  to  seconding  Mrs.  CoUingwood's  conversa- 
tional efforts.  After  dinner  they  all  played  bridge 
till  eleven  o'clock. 

So  the  whole  incident  was  passed  over  without 
speech  between  husband  and  wife.  But  with  it 
went  the  completeness,  the  golden,  unreal  joy  of 
their  honeymoon.  Though  they  walked  and  talked 
together,  and  played  at  being  lovers  again,  a  sense 
of  distrust  hung  over  their  relations.  Collingwood 
secretly  nursed  his  why;  his  wife  still  asked  herself 
proudly  if  she  had  deserved  public  humiliation  at 
his  hands.  Led  by  an  evil  genius  he  could  not  have 
selected  a  more  adroit  way  to  offend  her  and  to 
arouse  her  critical  faculties  against  him  than  that 
he  had  chosen.  Private  reproaches  she  could  have 
endured  with  more  fortitude  than  she  could  endure 
public  sulking. 

Nevertheless,  she  made  a  Spartan  effort  to  clear 
him  at  her  own  expense,  and  a  no  less  loyal  attempt 
to  conceal  from  him  that  a  wound  still  rankled  in 
17  [  257  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

her  breast.  But  it  did  rankle,  and,  in  the  next  six 
weeks,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  and  Martin  grew 
steadily  apart;  that  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  stay 
the  widening  process,  it  went  on  slowly  and  relent- 
lessly, and  that  it  was  leading  them  gradually  but 
inevitably  to  that  moment  which  she  had  so  greatly 
dreaded  before  her  marriage. 

It  was  the  custom  at  the  Island  for  the  three  men 
to  take  turns  in  going  to  Manila  for  commissaries, 
and  to  dispose  of  their  pearls  and  shells.  Colling- 
wood  had  been  engaged  in  this  work  the  year  before, 
when  he  met  with  the  accident  which  landed  him 
in  the  hospital;  the  Maclaughlins  had  been  up 
since  Charlotte's  marriage,  and  the  next  trip  was 
Kingsnorth's.  But  as  the  time  drew  near,  he  as- 
tounded them  all  by  the  announcement  that  he  did 
not  want  to  go,  and  that  he  wished  Collingwood 
to  take  his  place.  When  pressed  for  a  reason  for 
his  apparent  insanity,  he  declared  that  if  a  man  had 
to  live  in  purgatory  or  a  worse  place,  he  had  better 
stay  there  all  the  time,  and  not  seek  spots  that  would 
emphasize  its  drawbacks  when  he  returned  to  it. 
He  insisted  that  Collingwood  enjoyed  Manila  while 
to  him  it  was  the  extreme  of  boredom,  and  that 

[268] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Martin  ought  to  take  his  wife  away  for  a  change, 
that  her  spirits  were  drooping. 

*'Nonsense,"  said  Charlotte.  "I  am  absolutely 
contented.     I  don't  feel  droopy." 

But  Collingwood  had  taken  alarm.  He  stared 
at  her.  "But  you  are  a  bit  pale,"  he  said.  "I 
wonder  why  I  had  not  noticed  it.  Besides,  I  should 
like  to  be  in  Manila  again  with  you.  Let 's  accept. 
Kingsnorth  proposed  it  himself.  He  can't  com- 
plain if  we  take  him  at  his  word." 

At  this  point,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  put  in  a  bomb. 
"Why  can't  I  go  too,  then?"  she  said. 

"We  need  a  housekeeper,"  cried  Kingsnorth, 
while  Maclaughlin  remarked  hastily,  "Don't  talk 
of  it." 

"Fiddlesticks,"  Martin  said.  "You  can  get 
along  by  yourself  a  while.  It 's  just  the  thing. 
Charlotte  will  have  somebody  for  company  while  I 
am  at  business." 

By  this  time,  Charlotte  was  ready  with  a  smile 
and  an  echo  of  his  remark.  Engsnorth  grew 
morose  while  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  began  to  enu- 
merate the  things  which  actually  demanded  her  pres- 
ence in  Manila.     Maclaughlin  gave  her  one  or  two 

[259] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

frowns ;  but  she  had  taken  the  bit  in  her  teeth ;  and 
it  was  soon  decided  that  she  was  to  have  her  way. 

Charlotte's  heart  sank  and  her  anticipation  of 
pleasure  subsided  into  dread.  Mrs.  Maclaughlin 
was,  at  all  times,  a  trial  to  her.  She  had  little  sym- 
pathy with  the  self-complacent  temperament  which 
is  not  subject  to  atmospheric  influences;  and  Mrs. 
Maclaughlin's  society  seemed  to  her  several  de- 
grees less  desirable  in  Manila  than  it  did  in  May- 
lubi.  She  made  no  objection,  however,  and  even 
succeeded  in  forcing  herself  to  a  half-hearted  share 
in  Martin's  enthusiasm. 


[260] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  all  finally  settled,  and  preparations  such 
as  could  be  made  were  begun.  Charlotte 
found  that,  with  a  prospect  of  returning  to  the 
world,  a  variety  of  interests  which  she  had  thought 
quite  extinct  revived  and  grew  clamorous.  Mem- 
ory was  busy,  too,  with  the  days  of  her  courtship. 
That  strange  mingling  of  ecstasy  and  misery 
through  which  she  had  passed  seemed  quite  remote 
and,  in  retrospect,  quite  unnecessary.  A  hundred 
times  she  asked  herself  why  she  had  been  such  a 
goose,  why  she  had  hesitated,  why  she  had  permitted 
the  possible  opinion  of  the  world  at  large  to  in- 
fluence her.  She  went  about  almost  uplifted  with 
the  sense  of  new  moral  independence, 

CoUingwood  was  childishly  eager  for  the  change. 
His  head,  too,  was  full  of  memories  and  of  places 
—  how  they  would  revisit  the  place  where  such  and 
such  a  conversation  had  taken  place, —  did  she  re- 
member that  wrestle  of  their  two  individualities? 
' —  or  drive  over  the  ground  where  he  had  pleaded 

[^61] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

so  fiercely  for  the  right  to  take  care  of  her,  to  stand 
between  her  and  the  bread-and-butter  struggle. 
Particularly  he  looked  forward  to  the  Luneta 
evenings,  for,  of  all  moments  in  his  life,  he  held 
that  moment  on  the  Luneta  when  she  had  dropped 
her  flag  the  sweetqst.  He  said  as  much  to  her,  and 
she  blushed  like  a  girl.  He  also  said  something  to 
the  same  effect  to  Mrs.  Mac  when  that  lady 
was  sharpening  her  imagination  one  evening  at 
dinner. 

*'We  are  going  to  run  off  and  leave  you  just  once, 
Mrs.  Mac,"  he  said.  "I  've  got  one  drive  with  my 
wife  all  planned  out;  it  will  be  a  Sunday  evening. 
I  am  going  to  take  her  to  the  Luneta  that  evening; 
just  she  and  I." 

"Oh,  I  can  understand,"  replied  Mrs.  Mac. 
"For  that  matter,  Mac  and  I  were  young  once  our- 
selves." 

Kingsnorth,  who  had  preserved  a  kind  of  dis- 
pleased reticence  ever  since  it  had  been  settled  that 
Mrs.  Mac  was  to  go  to  Manila  with  the  Colling- 
woods,  started  to  say  something,  bestowed  upon  the 
lady  an  unfriendly  glance,  and  somewhat  pointedly 
asked  Mrs.  Collingwood  if  she  was  going  to  join 
the  bridge  game  after  dinner. 

[262] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

Charlotte  smiled  across  the  table  at  her  husband. 
"Not  unless  I  'm  actually  needed,"  she  replied. 

"You  hate  it  so  badly,  you  '11  have  to  be  ex- 
cused," CoUingwood  said.  "Better  let  Kings- 
north  take  you  for  a  stroll.  You  need  exercise  and 
his  temper  needs  sweetening.  He  has  been  in  a 
devilish  mood  all  day." 

"You  make  me  feel  like  a  prescription,"  said 
Charlotte,  laughingly.  "Mr.  Kingsnorth,  if  your 
temper  does  not  improve  after  a  dose  of  my  society, 
my  husband's  faith  in  me  as  a  panacea  for  all 
troubles  of  the  mind  will  have  gone  forever." 

"I  note  that  fact,"  said  Kingsnorth,  gravely.  "I 
commit  myself  now  to  come  back  grinning  like  a 
Cheshire  cat."  But  he  knew,  in  spite  of  her  light 
manner,  that  Charlotte  was  displeased.  It  was  sel- 
dom that  she  permitted  herself  the  least  badinage 
with  him;  and  he  recognized  it  nearly  always  as  a 
cloak  to  cover  some  hasty  and  more  aggressive  in- 
stinct. 

Nevertheless,  when  they  started  away  after  din- 
ner, she  fell  into  a  more  intimate  tone  with  him 
than  she  generally  used.  The  sunset  was  just  dy- 
ing out,  and  its  flaming  radiance  seemed  to  exag- 
gerate the  wide  sweep  of  the  waters,  the  white 

[263] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

stretch  of  sand,  and  the  lithe,  swaying  boles  of  the 
cocoanut  groves.  Charlotte  paused  to  look  about 
her  in  a  sudden  rush  of  tenderness  for  the  solitude. 

"It  is  wonderful  how  contented  one  can  be  in 
such  a  situation  as  this,"  she  said.  "I  am  amazed 
at  myself.  I  am  never  sad,  seldom  even  lonely.  I 
have  a  feeling,  at  times,  that  this  could  go  on  and  on 
and  on  in  endless  geons,  and  I  could  ask  no  more 
than  one  day's  sunshine  and  that  same  day's  sun- 
set. It  is  inexplicable  and  yet  it  is  all  in  myself; 
anything  to  upset  that  harmony  between  my  soul 
and  this  could  make  it  a  nightmare,  an  endless  night- 
mare." 

"As  it  is  to  me,"  Engsnorth  rejoined,  "I  don't 
know  why  I  stand  it  from  day  to  day.  I  don't  see 
how  mere  dollars  and  cents  can  compensate  for 
stagnating  here.  Yet  I  am  such  a  slave  to  the  dol- 
lar that  I  do  stay ;  the  good  Lord  only  knows  when 
I  shall  go  away." 

"Yet  you  gave  up  your  trip,  you  pretended  to 
feel  about  this  as  you  don't  feel.  Why  did  you  do 
it,  Mr.  Kingsnorth?" 

"I  wanted  you  and  Martin  to  go.  You  can  say 
what  you  please  about  being  satisfied  and  con- 

[264] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

tented;  some  of  your  radiance  and  vitality  have  dis- 
appeared in  the  last  two  or  three  weeks." 

Charlotte  flushed  uncomfortably.  She  did  not 
enjoy  the  thought  that  she  was  so  closely  watched 
and  studied.  Kingsnorth,  divining  her  thoughts, 
went  on  hastily. 

"Besides,  I  am  as  miserable  there  as  here.  I  want 
the  impossible.  I  'm  crying  for  the  moon.  I  've 
cried  for  it  —  My  God !  —  these  twenty  years.  I 
wonder,  Mrs.  ColKngwood,  if  you  can  understand 
a  mood  of  savage  self-dissatisfaction  —  a  mood  in 
which  it  seems  indecent  that  you  should  be  alive 
yourself,  and  unjust  that  so  many  milhon  fellow- 
beings  should  find  this  world  an  agreeable  place. 
There  are  times  when  I  should  like  to  be  an  Atlas 
poised  on  the  gulf  of  space !  How  I  'd  send  the  old 
ball  and  all  that  dwell  in  it  humming  into  the  void, 
to  go  on  and  on  into  darkness  1  You  know  that 
poem  of  Byron's  — " 

"Yes,  I  know  the  poem  and  the  mood,"  She 
regretted  the  statement  as  soon  as  she  had  made  it, 
and  bit  her  lips  in  silent  confusion.  Kingsnorth 
stopped  and  faced  her.  They  stood  close  to  a  great 
clump  of  pandan  bushes  where  a  path,  making  a 


The  Locusts'  Years 

short  cut  from  the  cottages  to  the  point,  led  away- 
through  the  bunched  sand  grass. 

"Are  you  going  to  draw  that  line  on  me  forever, 
Mrs.  Collingwood?"  he  demanded. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Mr.  Kingsnorth." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  I  am  Martin's  friend,  Mrs. 
Collingwood.     Am  I  never  going  to  be  yours?" 

"Just  as  far  as  it  is  a  friendship  including  Mar- 
tin, yes.  But  why  fence  over  the  matter?  The 
friendship  which  you  would  form  with  me  excludes 
him.  I  should  have  poor  powers  of  analysis,  Mr. 
Kingsnorth,  if  I  could  not  perceive  that  you  have 
not  been  bidding  for  the  friendship  of  a  friend's 
wife,  as  she  is  joined  to  his  life  and  yours  in  the 
present.  What  you  want  is  a  friendship  based 
on  the  past.  You  want  to  build  something  out  of 
what  we  have  both  experienced  and  what  he  has  not 
experienced,  and  I  will  have  nothing  of  it." 

"I  meant  no  disloyalty  to  him,"  Kingsnorth  mut- 
tered. 

"Disloyalty;  no  I  But  would  he  feel  his  position 
a  dignified  one?  Would  he  have  no  cause  for  com- 
plaint with  both  you  and  me?" 

"You  coddle  him,"  said  Kingsnorth,  with  a  short 
bitter  laugh. 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

"I  am  jealous  for  all  that  touches  his  dignity 
as  well  as  mine." 

Kingsnorth  lost  his  head.  "Why  did  you  marry 
him?"  he  said. 

"I  married  him  because  I  was  in  love  with  him, 
Mr.  Ejingsnorth.  I  haven't  regretted  it.  I  love 
him  better  to-day,  if  it  were  possible,  than  I  did 
then.  I  have  answered  your  question  because  I 
was  able  to  answer  it  frankly;  but,  none  the  less, 
I  resent  its  impertinence." 

"I  apologize.  But  you  will  admit,  lady  of  the 
stony  heart,  that  there  are  situations  that  provoke 
human  curiosity  past  the  limits  of  all  good  man- 
ners." 

Charlotte  stood  tapping  one  foot  on  the  ground 
a  long  while  before  she  spoke.  She  was  thinking 
deeply,  and  the  result  of  her  meditations  was  a 
sudden  appeal. 

"Mr.  Kingsnorth,"  she  said  gently,  "I  should  like 
to  put  this  matter  honestly  before  you.  You  and 
I  find  ourselves  in  a  peculiar  situation.  When  I 
first  came  here  I  was  utterly  taken  aback  by  your 
presence.  You  saw  my  confusion.  You  probably 
read  it  aright,  and  I  saw  in  your  eyes,  that  first 
morning,  the  question  which  you  have  just  asked 

[267] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

me.  The  answer  is  easy,  and  yet  not  easy  to  make. 
For  the  sake  of  human  affection  in  my  life,  to  es- 
cape a  loneliness  and  a  sense  of  isolation  that  were 
almost  intolerable  to  me,  I  compromised  with  my 
ambitions.  I  know  how  you  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  world  —  or,  at  least,  that  part  of  it  in  which  you 
and  I  were  brought  up  —  regard  my  marriage. 
All  the  same,  I  do  not  regret  it,  and  my  life  with 
Martin  has  been  full  of  happiness.  I  don't  in- 
tend to  jeopardize  one  drop  of  that  happiness.  I 
have  steadily  refused  to  drift  into  any  relations 
with  you  that  could  startle  Martin's  mind  into 
recognition  of  facts  which  he  is  blind  to,  and  which 
I  choose  to  ignore.  Are  you  so  selfish  that,  for 
the  sake  of  a  few  idle  hours,  a  few  reminiscences, 
perhaps,  you  would  ask  me  to  risk  the  dearest  pos- 
session I  have  in  the  world  —  my  husband's  un- 
alloyed pleasure  in  our  own  relations,  his  perfect 
confidence  in  himself?"  She  drew  a  long  breath. 
"It  would  be  a  sacrilege.  I  '11  guard  his  happy 
self-confidence  as  I  would  guard  my  own  self-re- 
spect." 

"That  self-confidence  of  his  is  deuced  irritating 
to  the  onlooker."  Then  with  a  burst  of  anger, 
"You  can't  forgive  me  for  being  myself,  but  you 

[268] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

will  forgive  him  for  bringing  you  here  and  expect- 
ing you  to  associate  with  me." 

"The  association  has  done  me  no  harm,  Mr. 
Kingsnorth." 

"No,  you  're  right.  You  've  treated  me  like  a 
leper." 

"I  have  treated  you  with  the  courtesy  and  con- 
sideration which  any  woman  owes  to  her  husband's 
friends." 

"And  you  've  measured  it  out  drop  by  drop,  as 
you  would  medicine  in  a  glass;  just  as  you'll 
measure  out  courtesy  to  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  on  this 
trip.  Good  Lord  I  Mrs.  Collingwood,  you  can't 
have  that  woman  at  your  heels  in  Manila.  What 
is  Martin  thinking  of?     Let  me  give  him  a  hint  for 

you." 

"Don't  you  dare,"  she  cried,  her  face  crimsoning, 
her  eyes  beginning  to  flash.  Then  with  a  sudden 
repression  of  her  feelings,  "What  evil  genius  in- 
spires this  desire  to  interfere?  Why  can  you  not 
leave  me  to  manage  my  own  affairs?  Martin  is 
pleased  at  the  idea  of  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  going, 
and  that  is  enough  for  me."  Then  she  began  to 
laugh  softly.  "Please,  Mr.  Kingsnorth,  let  this  be 
the  last  time  that  you  and  I  discuss  my  personal 

[  269  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

affairs  or  Martin's.  Martin  and  I  have  a  little 
Garden  of  Eden  of  our  own,  but  I  am  no  primitive 
Eve.  With  my  consent,  he  shall  not  eat  of  the 
fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge." 

Kingsnorth  turned  around  with  a  shrug.  "How 
long  do  you  think  you  can  keep  it  up?" 

"As  long  as  we  live  in  Maylubi,  at  the  least.  I 
hope  forever." 

"Not  another  day,"  said  CoUingwood's  voice,  as 
he  stepped  into  the  path  clear  in  view  from  behind 
the  pandan  bushes.  "I  've  been  listening  to  this 
jargon  for  ten  minutes.  Now  I  should  like  to  know 
what  it  means?" 

Kingsnorth  did  not  start  or  utter  a  word;  he  only 
stared  defiantly  at  CoUingwood.  He  was  con- 
scious of  a  low  repressed  sound  from  Mrs.  Col- 
lingwood,  who  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone,  her  gaze 
fixed  not  on  her  husband,  but  on  Kingsnorth.  She 
was  nibbling  a  ratched  edge  of  pandan  fibre  which 
she  had  stripped  as  they  talked;  but  her  expression 
was  one  of  bitter  accusation.  Plainly  she  held  him 
responsible  for  the  conversation  he  had  forced  upon 
her,  and  the  betrayal  which  had  ensued. 

Collingwood  was  white  and  his  brown  eyes  glit- 
[270] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

tered  with  an  uncanny  lustre.  He  was  holding 
himself  in  with  a  strong  hand. 

It  was  Charlotte  who  spoke  first.  "At  what 
point  did  you  enter  the  conversation,  Martin?"  she 
inquired  suavely. 

"I  did  n't  enter.  But  I  judge  I  heard  from  the 
beginning,  Mrs.  Mac  found  she  had  something 
else  to  do,  and  Mac  wanted  to  read;  so  I  came 
across,  short  cut,  to  join  you.  I  waited  a  minute, 
intending  to  scare  you,  and  then  what  I  heard  made 
me  want  to  hear  more." 

Charlotte  gave  a  little  reckless  shrug,  and  turned 
her  face  seaward.  Her  expression  cut  Kingsnorth 
to  the  heart. 

"If  you  heard  from  the  beginning,  you  must  see 
that  I  forced  a  conversation  on  Mrs.  CoUingwood 
that  she  disliked,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  got  that  all  right.  I  'm  not  playing 
the  jealous  husband.  Charlotte's  all  right;  so  are 
you,  for  that  matter.  What  I  'd  like  to  have  ex- 
plained is  this  compromise  talk." 

Charlotte  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  A  leaden  pain 
seemed  to  make  them  heavy  and  spiritless. 

"You  don't  need  explanations,  Martin,"  she  said. 
[271] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

''Would  to  Heaven  you  did;  though  I  'd  tear  my 
tongue  out  by  the  roots  before  I  would  give  them, 
if  you  really  did." 

"I  guess  I  gathered  the  point,"  Martin  replied 
bitterly.  "There  is  n't  much  to  be  said.  It  makes 
a  thousand  things  that  have  mystified  me  plain  as 
day.  You  've  deceived  me.  You  've  played  a 
nasty  part.     It  does  you  small  credit." 

Kingsnorth  started  to  move  away.  "You 
need  n't  go,"  Martin  said.  "I  don't  see  any  reason 
to  be  sensitive  about  discussing  this  thing  before 
you.  You  seemed  to  be  admitted  to  things  before 
I  was." 

"I  learned  what  my  eyes  and  wits  told  me.  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  until  to-night  Mrs. 
Collingwood  and  I  have  never  spoken  of  you  or  of 
your  and  her  private  affairs.  What  she  said  to 
me  was  in  self-defence  and  only  to  parry  an  insis- 
tence that  I  sincerely  regret."  He  turned  toward 
Charlotte  appealingly,  but  she  made  a  fierce  little 
movement  as  if  to  wave  away  anything  apologetic 
he  might  say. 

"It  must  have  been  a  damned  interesting  com- 
edy," Martin  went  on,  the  words  stinging  like  sleet. 

"Stop!"  cried  Charlotte.  She  put  up  a  hand. 
[272] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"I  have  never  deceived  you,  Martin.  If  you  re- 
call the  day  on  which  you  left  the  hospital,  and  on 
which  you  came  to  me  and  asked  me  to  marry  you, 
you  will  remember  that  I  spelt  out  with  almost  pain- 
ful distinctness  the  things  which  have  been  alluded 
to  to-night.  You  simply  refused  to  listen  to  them. 
You  would  not  understand.  Every  word  fell  on 
deaf  ears." 

"Well,  they  're  sensitive  enough  now,  I  understand 
the  situation.  You  Ve  simply  reversed  the  squaw- 
man  act.  You  wanted  a  home  and  somebody  to 
love  you,  and  you  took  what  you  could  get,  not 
what  you  wanted.  And  you  said  to  yourself  that 
it  did  not  matter,  for  you  never  expected  to  go 
home,  and  you  would  n't  have  to  show  me  to  your 
friends.  That 's  all  very  fine,  from  the  squawman's 
view-point.  It 's  practical.  But  by  the  living  God 
I  'm  no  squaw,  to  be  content  with  my  position ! 
You're  not  proud  of  me,  I  see.  Damnation!  do 
you  think  I  '11  live  with  you,  or  any  woman  that 
walks  the  earth,  on  those  terms?" 

There   was   an  instant's   silence.     CoUingwood, 

somewhat  relieved  by  his  own  violence,  glared  at 

the  woman,  who,  up  to  that  hour,  had  never  known 

less  than  tenderness  from  him.     Kingsnorth  stood 

18  [  273  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

bowed  with  shame  and  repentance.  For  an  in- 
stant Charlotte's  frozen  glance  met  her  husband's. 
Then  with  an  unconscious  gesture  she  laid  one  hand 
on  her  constricted  throat,  and,  turning,  took  the 
path  across  the  grove.  Her  white  figure  moved 
so  lightly  that  they  could  not  realize  the  difficulty 
with  which  she  walked.  But  as  the  shadows  of 
the  tall  cocoanut  trees  closed  around  her,  she 
grasped  a  slender  bole  with  both  arms  and  leaned 
against  it,  panting.  Nausea  swept  over  her.  De- 
spair, humiliation,  hopelessness  weighed  her  down. 
Her  knees  trembled  beneath  her,  and  with  a  little 
moan,  too  soft  to  reach  the  ears  of  the  two  men, 
who  remained  motionless,  she  sank  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree. 

She  lay  there  a  long  time,  unable  to  rise,  though 
she  was  not  fainting.  Weakness  had  fastened 
upon  her.  But  under  her  breath  she  kept  on  re- 
peating one  sobbing  phrase: 

*'It  is  n't  fair !  It  is  n't  fair  —  three  men  against 
one  woman.  They  are  so  hard.  They  are  n't 
generous.     It  is  n't  fair." 

At  length  Collingwood  turned  abruptly  and 
walked  down  the  beach.  Kingsnorth  came  out  of 
his  stupor  and  pursued  him. 

[274] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Collingwood,"  he  said  earnestly,  '*if  I  were  not 
such  a  blackguard  myself,  I  'd  call  you  one,  for 
your  treatment  of  your  wife.  She  's  had  no  chance 
between  us." 

"She  can  take  care  of  herself,  I  think.  My  ad- 
vice to  you  is  to  keep  out  of  the  matter." 

"How  can  I?     I  Ve  been  the  cause  of  it." 

"You  the  cause!"  Martin  stared  an  instant  and 
broke  into  a  short,  ugly  laugh.  "Do  you  suppose  I 
care  for  that  talk  out  there  to-night  ?  You  did  me 
a  favor.  What  I  care  about  is  the  part  I  Ve  played 
for  the  last  ten  months.  A  devilish  pretty  dupe 
I  Ve  been." 

Kingsnorth  recognized  the  futility  of  argument 
with  a  man  whose  self-love  has  been  so  sorely 
wounded.  "You'll  see  this  thing  differently  when 
you  cool  down,"  he  remarked.  "Don't  say  any- 
thing more  to  your  wife.  She  's  a  noble  woman, 
Martin,  a  damned  sight  too  good  for  you,  if  you 
want  the  truth ;  and  you  Ve  half  killed  her  to-night. 
Hold  in  till  you  Ve  had  time  to  get  your  second 
thoughts.  If  you  want  to  beat  my  face  in,  I  '11 
stand  it.  God  1  I  'm  certain  it  would  be  a  re- 
lief." 

Martin's  reply  was  an  inarticulate  grunt,  as  he 
[275] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

flung  up  the  path  to  his  own  cottage.  He  charged 
up  the  steps  through  the  lighted  sola,  and  into  the 
bedroom,  expecting  to  find  Charlotte  there.  The 
desire  to  quarrel  was  strong  in  him. 

The  empty  room  surprised  him,  and  for  an  in- 
stant jolted  his  thoughts  into  a  less  combative  vein. 
He  went  out  and  sat  down  on  the  veranda  steps, 
chewing  the  end  of  an  unlighted  cigar,  and  expect- 
ing each  minute  to  see  her  white-clad  figure  emerge 
from  the  dark  line  of  the  cocoanut  grove.  Gloomy- 
thoughts  seized  upon  his  mind. 

The  chiming  of  the  sola  clock  brought  him  to  a 
sudden  realization  that  it  was  eleven  o'clock  and 
Charlotte  had  not  returned.  Alarm  overcame  his 
rage,  and  he  started  hastily  up  the  path  through  the 
grove.  He  almost  stumbled  over  her  before  he 
saw  her. 

"What  in  the  name  of  Heaven  are  you  doing 
here?"  he  demanded.  **Get  up  and  come  home  at 
once." 

She  tried  to  obey  him,  but  it  was  with  the  third 
unassisted  effort  only  that  she  dropped  her  head 
with  a  moan  that  went  to  his  heart.  "I  can't  get 
up.  I  would  if  I  could."  And  Martin  stooped 
and  lifted  her  to  her  feet. 

[276] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"Can  you  walk?"  he  asked.     His  voice  trembled. 

She  nodded  and  dragged  herself  along  with  his 
aid.  CoUingwood  was  thoroughly  frightened. 
He  helped  her  to  her  room,  where  she  fell  on  her 
bed  nerveless.  No  fury  could  have  blinded  him  to 
her  utter  exhaustion,  to  the  set  despair  of  her  face. 
He  went  into  the  dining-room  and  brought  her  a 
glass  of  whiskey.  When  she  had  drunk  it,  a  bit  of 
color  came  back  into  her  face  and  she  looked  at 
him  appeaHngly. 

"Don't  say  any  more  to-night,  please,  Martin. 
If  you  '11  go  out  on  the  veranda,  I  '11  get  myself 
to  bed  without  assistance.  I  can't  talk."  Her 
teeth  chattered. 

Collingwood,  half  sulky  still,  half  compassion- 
ate, betook  himself  to  the  veranda  and  a  succession 
of  cigars.  Away  from  the  sight  of  her  suffering, 
anger  and  humiliation  sat  again  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. When  in  the  wee  small  hours,  he  sought  his 
room,  he  asked  her  grouchily  if  she  had  slept,  or 
if  he  could  do  anything  for  her.  To  both  ques- 
tions she  uttered  a  denial.  It  was  evident  that  she 
had  not  been  crying  though  she  looked  very  pale 
and  worn;  and  the  next  morning  she  was  unable 
to  rise. 

[  277  ] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  seemed  to  Mrs.  CoUingwood  that  the  next 
three  days  embodied  the  quintessence  of  all 
that  had  ever  fallen  to  her  lot  of  discomfort 
and  misery.  To  lie  physically  helpless,  a  burden 
and  a  care  to  the  one  person  who,  at  that  time,  was 
most  out  of  love  with  her,  was  humiliation  of  the 
most  cankering  variety.  Added  to  it  was  the  sense 
of  loss,  the  consciousness  of  ruin  and  disaster,  and 
a  feeling  of  shame  that  bowed  her  to  the  earth. 
Her  husband's  bitter  words  had  sunk  deep  into 
her  soul.  She  saw  herself  as  a  creature  degraded 
and  partaking  of  the  instincts  of  the  most  depraved 
class.  Her  marriage  began  to  assume  the  complex- 
ion of  an  adventure.  Was  there  an  element  of 
the  adventuress  in  her?  she  asked  herself  tremu- 
lously. In  reply  came  a  wild  rush  of  denial,  an 
agony  of  revolt.  As  she  envisaged  herself  she 
could  not  but  justify  her  own  actions.  The  femi- 
nine weakness,  and  dread  of  life's  bread-and-butter 
struggle,  alone  justified  them.     And  she  had  loved 

[^78] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Martin  tenderly;  she  had  been  a  good  wife,  loyal 
to  his  interests,  guarding  his  dignity  as  her  own, 
literally  pouring  her  affection  and  her  gratitude 
for  all  his  tenderness  toward  her  into  his  carelessly 
outstretched  palm.  No  mother  ever  more  sedu- 
lously stood  between  her  child  and  the  evil  of  the 
world  than  she  had  sought  to  save  Martin  Colling- 
wood  the  pain  of  knowing  what  he  had  come  to 
know.  His  ingratitude,  though  she  would  not  use 
that  word  even  to  herself,  cut  her  to  the  depths  of 
her  heart. 

But  it  was  plain  that  their  romance  was  ended; 
"the  thing  had  gone  to  smash,"  in  Collingwood's 
forceful  language.  Time  and  time  again  she  went 
over  that  night  on  the  Luneta  before  their  mar- 
riage, and  Martin's  words,  and  her  own  miserable 
doubts  and  fears.  The  worst  had  happened,  as 
she  had  feared  it  might,  but  Collingwood  was  not 
living  up  to  his  philosophy.  He  was  angry  at  her, 
held  himself  a  man  cheated,  put  all  the  blame  on 
her,  wanted  in  a  dumb,  fruitless  way  to  quarrel  with 
her. 

On  the  evening  of  her  second  day  in  bed,  they  at- 
tempted to  thresh  out  their  difficulties,  but  it  was 
soon   evident  that  they   had   reached   a  hopeless 

[279] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

impasse,     Charlotte  ended  what  was  a  miserable 
controversy. 

"What  is  your  quarrel  with  me  about,  Martin?" 
she  said.  "Simply  that  I  am  I,  that  I  have  lived 
through  certain  experiences,  that  I  have  certain 
criterions  of  taste  and  judgment  that  you  have  not. 
I  have  not  obtruded  them  on  you.  I  have  n't  made 
myself  obnoxious  by  them.  I  deny  that  I  have  ever 
deceived  you,  and  I  have  tried  honestly  to  think 
and  feel  as  you  do.  I  have  n't  been  playing  a  part. 
I  have  been  thoroughly  happy.  But  you  can't  any 
more  make  me  put  your  values  on  life  and  people, 
than  you  can,  because  somebody  wishes  you  to,  con- 
vince yourself  that  there  is  no  America;  that  all 
your  past  life  has  been  a  dream;  that  all  you  have 
known  and  felt  and  seen  has  been  mere  imagination, 
a  fancy  on  your  part.  I  '11  have  no  quarrel  with 
you,  no  reproaches.  I  married  you  of  my  own  free 
will,  and  married  you  for  love.  As  for  my  philos- 
ophy of  life  or  my  views  on  worldly  matters,  what 
actual  part  need  they  play  in  our  life  ?  If  I  am  con- 
tent to  put  them  out  of  sight,  why  cannot  you  do 
so?" 

"I  '11  be  damned  if  I  '11  live  with  any  woman  on 
earth  on  your  terms,"  Collingwood  reiterated. 

[280] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

She  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes.  "Then  the 
thing  is  finally  settled,  and  we  can  spare  ourselves 
the  pain  of  useless  discussion.  For  in  the  thing 
we  are  quarrelling  with  —  not  my  actions,  but  my 
philosophy  of  life  —  I  shall  not  change.  Nor  can 
I  fancy  any  woman  with  a  spark  of  modesty  or 
decency  in  her,  entreating  a  man  to  live  with  her. 
If  you  will  allow  me  to  remain  here  during  your 
stay  in  Manila,  I  '11  go  before  you  get  back." 

"How  do  you  think  you  are  going  to  live?" 

She  gave  a  little  reckless  shrug.  "I  supported 
myself  before  we  were  married.  I  suppose  I  can 
do  so  again.  I  '11  make  no  demands  on  your  pocket 
book.  I  didn't  marry  you  to  be  supported.  I 
married  you  to  be  loved  by  you,  to  feel  that  I  gave 
in  your  life  and  home  an  order  and  an  assistance  — 
yes,  and  a  joy  —  to  equalize  what  I  cost  you  in 
money.  When  there  is  no  longer  exchange,  I 
refuse  to  accept." 

"Big  talk,"  said  Martin.  She  did  not  reply,  but 
turned  away  wearily.  The  servant  knocked  at  the 
door  a  minute  after  to  say  that  dinner  was  ready, 
and  he  went  to  his  meal.  After  that,  it  seemed 
that  they  had  subsided  into  a  tacit  acceptance  of 
their  future  as  she  had  outlined  it. 

[  281  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Collingwood  was  quite  as  unhappy  as  his  wife 
was.  All  his  masculine  pride  was  chafing,  but  his 
masculine  heart  was  aching.  He  wanted  to  be  set 
gloriously  in  the  right,  to  ascend  the  pedestal  from 
which  he  had  been  ignominiously  tumbled  by  a  few 
incautious  words  overheard.  He  wanted,  though 
he  hardly  phrased  it  to  himself,  apologies  for  his 
wife's  daring  to  understand  a  thing  that  he  had  not 
imderstood.  He  had  literally  eaten  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge  and  was  enraged  with  what  lay  patent 
to  his  seared  vision. 

The  consciousness  of  what  had  been  going  on  in 
Kingsnorth's  mind,  in  Judge  Barton's,  in  the  Com- 
missioner's, burnt  like  acid  on  a  wound.  He  saw, 
with  astonishing  clearness.  Judge  Barton's  view- 
point, and  he  marvelled  no  more  at  that  gentleman's 
temerity.  His  beggar  maid  a  princess!  his  throne 
a  mesalliance!  —  the  thought  burned.  His  tor- 
tured self-love  yawned  like  an  abyss  which  no  heap- 
ing of  prostrate  offenders  could  ever  fill;  and 
against  his  wife's  quiet  dignity  his  thwarted  will 
raged  sullenly. 

Yet  it  is  doubtful  if  he  ever  really  regarded 
their  separation  as  probable.  Tacitly  he  accepted 
her  statement  that  she  was  going  away.     In  reality 

[282] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

he  hardly  thought  of  such  a  possibility.  Alone 
with  his  thoughts,  all  his  will  and  his  imagination 
bent  itself  to  her  conquest.  It  was  that  hour  of 
her  final  humiliation  and  confession  to  which  he 
looked  forward.  How  long  was  she  going  to  keep 
it  up? 

During  her  few  days'  illness,  however,  he  showed 
her  some  courtesies  for  which  she  returned  a  digni- 
fied, but  not  an  affectionate,  gratitude.  Indeed, 
she  had  been  up  and  about  the  house  two  or  three 
days  before  her  husband  perceived  that  the  door  of 
her  heart  and  mind,  which  she  had  so  shyly  opened 
to  him,  had  closed,  and  that  he  stood  outside  of  it, 
a  part  of  that  concourse  which  Charlotte  Ponsonby 
had  always  feared  and  distrusted.  She  had  trusted 
him  most  of  all  the  world,  and  he  had  turned  upon 
her  and  hurt  her  more  cruelly  than  anyone  else  had 
ever  done!  Without  reproach  or  lamentation  or 
any  sign  of  self-pity,  she  retired  behind  those  in- 
vincible ramparts  to  which  Martin  had  been  blind  in 
hospital  days,  but  to  which  he  was  now  so  much  alive. 

It  would  have  been  exceedingly  difficult  for  him 
to  tell  in  what  the  change  consisted.  Her  court- 
esy was  finely  measured,  it  is  true,  but  it  was  not 
an  armed  truce  between  belhgerents.     It  was  the 

[  283  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

refuge  of  dignity,  of  one  who  feels  his  position 
false,  but  would  save  appearances  by  outward 
grace,  at  least.  She  who  had  been  his  wife,  his 
dearest  possession,  became  only  a  graceful  hostess 
in  his  home  —  a  lady  who  stood  ready  to  lend  a 
deferential  ear  to  his  suggestions,  or  carry  out,  to 
the  best  of  her  ability,  his  every  wish,  expressed  or 
unexpressed.  She  ignored  his  gloom,  saw  to  all 
his  needs,  spoke  to  him  always  kindly,  though  with- 
out humility  or  contrition;  but  for  herself  she 
asked  not  one  fraction  of  his  time  or  his  attention. 
The  occasions  for  little  courtesies  which  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  offer  her  were  skilfully  avoided ;  but 
were  never  rudely  made  conspicuous  by  their  avoid- 
ance. Her  quiet  pride  was  infinitely  more  than  a 
match  for  his  aggressive  self-love;  her  supreme 
naturalness,  the  most  impregnable  armor  she  could 
have  worn. 

Kingsnorth  beheld  the  transformation  in  her,  was 
first  astonished,  then  interested,  then  moved  to  pro- 
found pity  and  contrition.  With  tact  equal  to  her 
own,  he  set  himself  to  meet  the  situation,  seconded 
all  her  efforts  to  make  their  awkward  meals  natural 
and  easy,  silenced  Mrs.  Mac's  gaping  curiosity,  and 
managed,  in  doing  it  all,  to  keep  himself  well  in 

[284] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

the  background.  With  Collingwood  he  had  one 
conversation  on  the  launch,  but  the  sum  and  sub- 
stance was  that  gentleman's  reiteration  of  the  terms 
on  which  he  would  live. 

"Damnation!"  was  Kingsnorth's  irritable  re- 
sponse, "you  are  simply  making  an  ass  of  yourself, 
Collingwood.  I  can't  call  you  a  brute,  because  I  've 
been  too  much  of  one  myself.  I  live  in  glass 
houses  —  I  can't  throw  stones.  You  've  married 
a  jewel  among  women,  and  you  're  going  to  make 
your  ruffled  dignity  make  smash  of  two  lives  that 
ought  to  be  happy.  Moreover,. you  are  not  in  ear- 
nest. This  is  all  bluffing  and  bad  temper  to  bring 
Mrs.  Collingwood  to  her  knees,  and  to  make  her  put 
herself  in  the  wrong  when  you  know  there  is  n't 
any  wrong  or  right  about  things.  Now  I  '11  give 
you  a  piece  of  advice,  old  man.  You  are  trying 
that  game  on  the  wrong  woman :  see  that  you  don't 
carry  it  too  far,  and  turn  her  affection  into  dis- 
hke.  I  've  learned  one  thing,  learned  it  tragically 
well  in  this  life;  and  that  is  that  one  has  just  one 
chance  really  in  this  world  with  one  person.  Now 
don't  lose  your  chance  with  your  wife." 

To  this  Martin  vouchsafed  a  grunt.  Hardly 
conscious  of  it,  he  had  set  his  will  to  bring  Char- 

[285] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

lotte  to  his  terms.     He  could  not  listen  to  anything 
that  crossed  that  strong  desire. 

The  days  went  by  slowly  where  they  had  once 
gone  so  fast,  and  neither  husband  nor  wife  re- 
ferred again  to  that  tacit  agreement  of  separation. 
Yet  Martin  knew  from  the  bundle  of  letters  which 
he  was  to  carry  up  to  Manila  that  Charlotte  was 
making  plans  for  business  life  again;  and  once, 
when  he  came  into  the  sitting-room  unexpectedly, 
he  found  her  frowning  over  her  bank  book.  He 
knew  the  balance  it  contained,  for,  on  their  wedding 
journey,  they  had  laughed  at  her  little  savings;  and 
he  knew  she  could  not  long  maintain  herself  upon 
it.  He  smiled  grimly  at  her  flushed  discomfiture 
when  he  found  her  pondering  ways  and  means,  and 
somewhat  brutally  said  to  himself  that  she  would 
find  that  she  had  little  rope  to  run  upon. 

Yet  at  the  last  moment  it  was  he  who  wavered, 
he  who  rang  down  the  curtain  on  their  make-be- 
lieve. She  had  looked  after  his  garments  and 
had  packed  his  trunk  with  wifely  solicitude;  had 
prepared  for  his  launch  trip,  foods  for  which  she 
knew  his  predilection,  and  had,  at  the  moment  of 
farewell,  saved  the  situation  by  putting  out  a 
friendly  hand. 

[286] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"I  do  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  trip,"  she 
said, —  and  what  it  cost  her  to  speak  so  easily  and 
naturally,  only  she  could  have  told, — "and  thank 
you  for  giving  me  the  weeks  here  to  get  ready. 
I  '11  go  over  to  Cuyo  when  the  launch  goes  up  for 
you  on  your  return  trip,  and  will  leave  a  letter  for 
you  there.  There  are  some  things  I  can't  say  to 
you,  but  I  should  like  to  write  them.  They  will, 
perhaps,  leave  a  better  feeling  between  us." 

To  these  words  Martin  found,  at  the  time,  no 
answer.  He  wrung  her  hand,  muttered  something, 
and  hastened  away.  Yet  when  his  belongings  had 
all  been  deposited  in  the  boat,  and  the  men  were 
waiting  to  "chair"  him  out,  he  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  strode  back  to  the  cottage. 

He  took  her  by  surprise,  for  she  had  not  stayed  to 
watch  him.  Her  impulse  had  been  to  scream,  to 
weep,  to  give  some  vent  to  the  pain  that  wrenched 
soul  and  body;  and  in  the  determination  to  keep 
hold  upon  herself  she  had  gone  straight  to  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  was  wrestling  there  with 
a  refractory  lock  on  a  cupboard.  She  turned  at 
his  step  a  face  drawn,  white,  and  frozen  into  lines 
of  pain,  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  asked 
and  yet  were  proudly  defiant. 

[287] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

He  went  straight  up  to  her  and  took  her  in  his 
arms ;  and  though  she  relaxed  and  her  head  lay  pas- 
sive on  his  shoulder,  there  thrilled  through  them 
both  the  sense  of  conflict,  of  individuality  set 
against  individuality.  Their  embrace  did  not 
lessen  the  strain,  and  after  an  instant,  something 
of  his  own  fierce  grasp  relaxed,  and  they  stood,  the 
dumb  victims  of  emotions  that  were  stronger  than 
their  wills,  stronger  than  their  aching  desires  to  be 
at  peace  with  each  other. 

She  turned  at  length  and  looked  at  him  with 
eyes  of  misery.  "Oh,  go!"  she  said.  "It 's  a  hun- 
dred times  worse  than  I  ever  thought  anything 
could  be.  Think  kindly  of  me  as  I  do  of  you. 
We  can't  help  ourselves.  I  knew  this  hour.  I 
felt  it  when  we  were  happiest.     It  had  to  be." 

"What  I  want  you  to  do,"  Martin  said  honestly, 
"is  to  take  into  consideration  my  care  for  you 
and  my  protection.  I  can  take  care  of  you  —  can 
do  it  well.     That  ought  to  count  for  something." 

"O  my  poor  boy,  has  it  not  always  counted?  I  've 
leaned  on  you  and  your  love,  Martin.  I  've  told 
you  so  a  thousand  times." 

"Yes,  but  you  set  against  them  a  lot  of  trifles." 

"But  I  don't  set  the  trifles  against  them.  I  have 
[288] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

never  weighed  one  against  the  other  —  never  for  an 
instant." 

"But  you  know  that  you  could."  Poor  Martin 
here  uttered  helplessly  what  was,  after  all,  at  the 
bottom  of  his  spleen. 

"Ah,"  she  sighed.  "Don't  judge  me  by  what 
I  know;  judge  me  by  what  I  've  done  and  thought." 

"You  Ve  got  to  change,"  he  muttered.  "I  can't. 
I  'm  right.     You  're  wrong." 

"The  things  you  have  in  mind  can't  be  changed 
by  will  power,  dear.  They  are  the  results  of  edu- 
cation, association,  environment.  New  environ- 
ment may  change  them  gradually.  What  you 
ask  I  cannot  give.  *I  Ve  done  all  I  can  do,  come 
as  far  to  meet  you  as  I  can.'  I  'm  not  stubborn, 
Martin.  I  would  do  anything  in  my  power  to  meet 
your  wishes.  You  are  quarrelling  not  with  what 
I  do,  but  with  what  I  am." 

The  answer  was  a  grunt  of  impatience  as  Mar- 
tin flung  away  again.  He  raged  helplessly  against 
the  truth  of  her  words. 

When,  at  last,  the  launch  was  hull  down  on  the 

sky  line,  Charlotte  went  to  bed,  and  shutting  out 

Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  insistent  curiosity,  permitted 

herself  the  luxury  of  nearly  a  week's  retirement. 

i»  .  [289] 


The  Locusts'  Year^ 

Though  at  times  she  wept,  for  the  most  part  she 
tried  to  shut  out  the  past,  and  to  concentrate  her 
thoughts  on  the  future.  CoUingwood's  idea  that 
her  dread  of  business  life  would  outweigh  her  sense 
of  humiliation  and  her  wounded  self-love  was  en- 
tirely wrong.  She  shrank,  it  is  true,  from  the 
world ;  but  the  thought  that  there  was  an  alternative 
never  suggested  itself  to  her.  CoUingwood  had 
said  that  he  would  not  live  with  her,  or  what  had 
seemed  to  her  the  equivalent  of  that.  She  took 
him  at  his  word.  The  fact  that  legally  he  was  her 
husband  counted  no  more  in  her  summing  up  of 
the  situation  than  if  he  had  been  a  chance  stranger 
encountered  in  the  street.  Live  for  an  hour  more 
than  was  absolutely  necessary  under  the  same  roof 
with  a  man  who  entertained  such  feelings  for  her? 
She  turned  sick  at  the  thought. 

When  at  last  she  emerged  from  her  retirement 
she  was  the  woman  of  hospital  days,  the  super- 
sensitive orphan,  feeling  herself  unwelcome  to  all 
the  world,  everybody's  hand  against  her,  her  hand 
against  everybody;  but  she  took  them,  as  Kings- 
north  phrased  it  to  himself,  in  the  hollow  of  her 
own  hand.  In  the  presence  of  her  reserve,  even 
Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  frank  speech  grew  guarded. 

[290] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Kingsnorth  merely  looked  at  her  in  a  kind  of  mute 
apology.  Again  and  again  she  caught  his  glance 
with  its  furtive  appeal;  but  each  time  her  own  eyes 
met  it,  not  with  studied  blankness,  but  with  a 
naturalness  that  was  almost  histrionic. 

Maclaughlin  had  returned  with  the  launch  before 
her  seclusion  was  at  an  end,  and  after  a  family  dis- 
cussion of  what  was  patent  to  their  eyes,  he  went 
vigorously  on  her  side.  She  was  "gentle  folks," 
he  maintained,  a  deal  sight  too  good  for  Martin 
CoUingwood;  and  Collingwood  was  behaving  like 
a  fool.  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  democratic  partiahty, 
naturally  roused  in  Martin's  favor,  was  somewhat 
rudely  snubbed. 


[291] 


CHAPTER  XV 

IT  was  at  the  end  of  a  month,  when  Charlotte 
looked  forward  with  increasing  dread  to  her 
husband's  return  and  to  her  own  departure, 
that  the  lorcha  Dos  Hermanos,  their  tried  friend, 
left  cargo  and  letters  at  the  island.  Collingwood 
wrote  that  he  should  delay  his  return  another  month. 
He  sent  down  their  commissaries,  and  Maclaughlin 
was  to  come  up  to  Romblon  harbor  to  meet  the  first 
June  run  of  the  Puerta  Princesa  steamer.  Most 
of  these  details  were  contained  in  a  letter  to  Mac- 
laughlin. His  letter  to  his  wife,  a  very  bulky  epis- 
tle, dwelt  upon  their  own  difficulties.  It  was  the 
first  letter  he  had  written  to  her,  and  Charlotte's 
face,  as  she  read  it,  was  a  study. 

"My  deakest  Girl: 

"You  are  that,  after  all.  I  've  been  thinking  over  our 
affairs,  and  I  am  willing  to  admit  that  I  was  hasty.  But 
I  don't  think  that  you  treated  me  altogether  fair.  What 
I  do  see  is  that  we  have  n't  got  any  time  to  jaw  over  what 
is  done  and  gone.     You  have  been  talking  about  leaving 

[  292  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

me  and  all  that,  but  that  is  just  talk.  I  don't  suppose  you 
ever  really  meant  it,  and  I  never  took  it  seriously.  We  '11 
kiss  and  be  friends  when  I  get  back,  and  you  '11  see  that 
everything  will  come  out  all  right. 

"I  've  been  having  a  pretty  fine  time  up  here.  About 
the  first  person  I  met  was  Barton.  I  had  intended  to  kick 
him  on  sight,  but  I  was  still  feeling  pretty  sore  toward 
you,  so  I  did  n't.  He  took  me  up  to  his  clubs  and  entered 
my  name,  and  the  next  night  took  me  to  call  on  that  Mrs. 
Badgerly.  Lord!  Lord!  that  woman  is  inquisitive!  She 
dug  at  me  hke  a  lawyer  at  a  witness.  I  never  gave  any- 
thing away :  swore  you  would  n't  come  along  because  you 
hated  the  sea  trip  so,  and  vowed  I  had  come  up  on  a  sugar 
lorcha.  Then  this  Mrs.  Badgerly  ( she  's  a  corker ;  I  like 
her  style),  told  me  she  wanted  to  take  me  to  see  old  Gen- 
eral   's  wife,  because  the  old  lady  knew  you  at  home. 

She  was  a  mighty  nice  old  lady, —  real  motherly, —  and 
she  told  me  a  lot  of  things  that  you  never  told  me,  and 
made  a  good  many  things  clear  that  I  've  never  understood. 
Then  I  was  invited  out  to  the  General's  to  a  big  dinner, 
where  there  were  two  or  three  other  people  who  used  to 
know  you ;  and  if  I  had  n't  been  so  fond  of  you,  it  would 
have  made  me  all-fired  mad  the  way  they  rammed  it  into 
me  that  I  had  married  into  a  fine  family,  and  a  fine  woman, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  did  n't  need  their  verdict  on 
you. 

"There  was  another  old  lady  there  who  used  to  know  you 
[here  Martin  named  the  mother  of  a  very  important  civil 
oflScer] ,  and  both  the  old  ladies  took  me  to  their  hearts  and 
purred  over  me.     I  bluffed  the  thing  right  through,  invited 

[  293  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

everybody  to  Maylubi,  and  promised  to  bring  you  up  some 
time  this  year.  Barton  was  at  the  dinner  too,  and  he  piled 
it  on  thick  about  our  island,  made  it  quite  romantic. 

"Well,  the  long  and  the  short  of  the  matter  is  that  you 
call  me.  I  '11  admit  that  the  crowd  here  is  a  little  swifter 
than  any  I  have  ever  known,  and  maybe  you  have  some 
right  to  your  private  opinions  that  I  did  n't  see  before. 
And,  as  you  said,  you  keep  them  to  yourself,  so  I  don't  see 
why  I  should  let  them  bother  me.  I  '11  stay  another  month 
or  so,  and  by  that  time  we  will  both  have  a  chance  to  get 
over  our  grudges.  You  need  n't  think  I  '11  let  you  go  back 
to  nursing ;  and  as  for  me,  I  am  willing  to  live  with  you  on 
the  old  terms,  and  mighty  anxious  to  get  back  to  them. 

*'I    have    put    six    dots    here    to    represent    six    kisses 

( ).     I  'U  give  you  sixty  when  I  get  home. 

"Your  affectionate  husband, 

"Martin  Collingwood." 

"P.  S.  I  am  going  to  take  both  old  ladies  for  a  drive 
to-night.     How  am  I  getting  on  for  a  beau?" 

When  she  had  twice  read  this  epistle,  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin CoUingwood  was  startled  by  the  realization  of 
a  great  mental  change  in  herself.  For  six  weeks 
she  had  schooled  herself  to  feel  that  she  must  leave 
her  husband  purely  out  of  decent  pride  and  self- 
respect.  She  had  believed  that  she  was  actuated  by 
the  desire  to  remove  an  obnoxious  presence  from 
one  who  had  ceased  to  take  pleasure  in  it;  and  she 
had  said  to  herself  a  hundred  times  that  her  afFec- 


The  Locusts^  Years 

tion  for  her  husband  had  never  wavered,  but  that 
to  thrust  it  upon  him  was  indecent. 

But  as  she  laid  down  the  letter  after  a  second 
perusal,  she  was  aghast  to  realize  that  she  did  not 
want  to  live  again  with  Martin  CoUingwood:  that 
she  recoiled  passionately  from  his  easy  sense  of  pos- 
session; that  his  taking  her  so  completely  for 
granted  was  an  affront  that  she  could  not  pardon. 
She  became  conscious  of  a  slow  process  that  had 
been  going  on  in  her  mind  during  the  dreary  weeks, 
the  death  of  the  feeling  that  had  cast  a  glamour 
over  Martin  Colhngwood  and  his  inability  to  un- 
derstand her  standards  and  traditions.  He  had 
lived  with  her  for  a  year,  and  had  been  unable  to 
comprehend  that  she  was  of  different  substance 
from  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  or  Mrs.  Badgerly.  He 
had  been  grossly  offensive  at  the  bare  suggestion 
that  she  might  be  superior  to  one  of  them,  but  when 
she  was  ticketed  with  the  other's  approval, —  she 
drew  an  indignant  breath, —  he  stood  ready  to  ex- 
hibit her  to  the  world,  and  to  call  its  attention  to  the 
superfine  partner  whom  he  had  drawn  in  the  matri- 
monial lottery. 

Well,  he  would  be  disappointed.  He  had  yet  to 
learn  that  she  was  no  readier  to  accept  his  terms 

[295] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

than  he  had  been  to  accept  hers.  She  had  had  her 
romance,  and  she  would  pay  the  price! 

Her  social  knowledge  told  her,  also,  that  the 
Spencer  family  had  taken  steps  to  make  its  power 
felt  across  the  Pacific,  and  that  in  spite  of  her 
marriage  and  her  bitter  letter,  they  were  behind  her, 
holding  fast  to  the  old  tenet  that  blood  is  thicker 
than  water.  She  knew  that  from  both  the  ladies 
who  had  impressed  Martin  as  motherly  old  dears 
she  would  have  received  at  any  time  both  courtesy 
and  kindness ;  but  they  would  not  have  taken  especial 
notice  of  Martin  CoUingwood  or  have  troubled 
themselves  to  introduce  him  without  some  sort  of 
urgent  appeal  from  the  Boston  family. 

The  thought  warmed  her  sad  heart  a  little,  for 
we  are  all  grateful  for  good-will,  and  the  world 
looked  a  lonely  place  to  Charlotte  at  that  time. 
She  was  very  thoughtful,  however,  and  she  was  in- 
clined to  regret  that  old  family  friends  had  arrived 
so  inopportunely  in  Manila.  It  would  make  her  lot 
harder,  entail  humiliating  explanations  exceedingly 
difficult  to  make  and  —  crowning  agony  —  it  would 
mean  that  the  disastrous  outcome  of  her  marriage 
would  be  immediately  known  and  discussed  by  the 

[296] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

very  persons  whose  knowledge  of  her  affairs  she 
most  desired  to  restrict. 

She  was  sitting  on  her  veranda,  the  letter  upon 
her  lap,  her  brows  frowning,  her  lips  pain-drawn, 
when  Kingsnorth  approached  from  his  own  cot- 
tage. He  too  had  had  a  letter  from  CoUingwood, 
and  after  a  bath  and  a  change  of  garments,  had 
come  over  to  discuss  it  with  Mrs.  Collingwood. 

He  advanced  with  the  hesitating  and  apologetic 
air  which  he  had  worn  with  her  ever  since  that  un- 
fortunate evening  on  the  beach.  She  roused  her- 
self to  a  cold  courtesy,  gave  him  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
then  sat  hstlessly  awaiting  what  she  knew  he  had 
come  to  say. 

"I  have  a  letter  from  Martin,"  Kingsnorth  be- 
gan awkwardly,  at  length,  "which  I  thought  you 
might  want  to  see.  He  says  in  it  that  he  did  not 
mention  some  of  the  business  details  to  you  and 
that  I  am  to  show  it  to  you." 

She  took  it,  glanced  through  it,  flushed  slightly, 
but  handed  it  back  without  comment.  It  was  a 
characteristically  brief  but  condensed  epistle,  deal- 
ing wholly  with  business  save  in  the  last  para- 
graph. 

[297] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

'^Better  show  this  to  mj  wife.  I  wrote  her,  but  had 
something  more  interesting  to  talk  about  than  these  mat- 
ters. You  were  quite  right.  I  have  been  a  damn  fool,  but 
I  am  all  right  now,  and  she  and  I  are  going  to  be  happy 
ever  after." 

As  Charlotte  returned  the  epistle,  Kingsnorth 
fixed  her  with  a  curious  eye,  half  interested,  half 
apologetic.  Then,  as  she  said  nothing,  he  stam- 
mered. 

"I  hope  it  will  be  as  Martin  says,  Mrs.  Colling- 
wood,  and  that  no  lasting  ill  will  come  out  of  my 
stupidity  and  insistence." 

A  slight  flush  tinged  Mrs.  CoUingwood's  cheek. 
"Martin  wrote  what  he  meant  to  be  a  kindly  letter, 
and  I  am  grateful  for  it.  But  it  really  does  n't 
affect  the  matter  in  the  least.  I  am  going  away. 
You  will  have  to  know  it  sooner  or  later." 

"You  can't  forgive  him?" 

"I  can't  forgive  myself.  I  have  no  hard  feeling 
against  him.  But  he  showed  me  myself."  Her 
face  burned. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Collingwood,  don't  feel  that  way. 
Martin  did  not  mean  what  he  said." 

She  lifted  her  heavy  eyes.     "Wasn't  it  true?" 

"No,  it  was  n't;  or,  at  least,  the  coloring  he  gave 
[298] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

it  was  n't  true.  It  would  n't  be  true  unless  — "  he 
paused  and  broke  off  confused. 

"Unless  what?" 

"You  know."     He  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"I  don't  know." 

"Unless  you  leave  him.  That's  what  they  do; 
that 's  what  I  did  when  I  got  tired.  But  if  you 
stay  by  what  you  promised,  no  human  being  can 
think  of  you  with  less  than  respect.  It  is  n't  the 
game,  it 's  the  way  you  play  the  game  that  counts." 
His  voice  trembled  with  emotion. 

Charlotte  sat  very  still,  her  cheeks  burning.  It 
seemed  incomprehensible  that  she  should  be  sit- 
ting there,  listening  to  John  Kingsnorth's  views  on 
ethics.  Where  had  she  failed?  What  gradual  dis- 
integration had  taken  place  in  her,  that  she  should 
be  wilhng,  nay,  eager,  to  hsten  to  moral  advice  from 
a  man  whose  very  presence  had  once  seemed  pollu- 
ting? 

At  the  same  time,  she  reahzed  that  his  words  had 
value.  Is  it,  she  asked  herself,  the  cut  and  dried 
opinion  of  those  who  walk  safely  along  a  beaten 
path  in  company  with  myriads  of  their  fellow  be- 
ings, which  really  counts  in  this  world?  or  is  it  the 
knowledge  that  comes  of  bitterness  and  experience? 

[  299  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

It  is  so  easy  to  formulate  high-sounding  phrases; 
but  what  do  these  phrases  amount  to  when  one  is 
confronted  with  life  ?  In  the  past  three  years,  what 
downward  steps  had  she  taken  upon  that  pathway 
—  she  whose  whole  ideal  had  been  to  keep  herself 
untainted  from  the  common  world  and  to  walk 
serenely  and  gracefully  along  those  heights  where 
all  the  training  of  childhood  and  the  instincts  of 
heredity  had  made  her  believe  that  her  path  lay? 
When  had  she  missed  it?  And  then,  like  a  flash, 
she  saw  in  retrospect  her  conduct  for  years  past; 
saw  herself  stopping  here,  twisting  there,  trying,  at 
every  instant,  to  evade  the  fate  and  the  suffering 
allotted  to  her  in  life.  Suddenly  she  realized  how 
much  she  and  John  Kingsnorth  had  in  common, 
for  each  was  a  coward.  Neither  had  strength  to 
take  sorrow  to  his  heart,  and  to  bear  it  uncomplain- 
ingly. She.  was  doing  what  he  had  done,  failing 
as  he  had  failed. 

The  letter  dropped  from  her  shaking  fingers,  and 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  look  so  hopeless, 
shamed,  and  grief -stricken,  that  he  shrank  back  and 
winced  as  if  he  had  seen  a  gaping  wound. 

"I  can't,"  she  said.  "Something  has  snapped. 
I  have  changed.     I  can't  be  Martin  Collingwood's 

[800] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

-Wif^  again.  If  the  weight  of  my  own  self -con- 
tempt could  crush  me,  I  should  be  dead.  Oh,  why 
did  they  destroy  my  faith?  There  would  have  been 
the  religious  life  at  least.^^^     .'jaio<:iiJiii)l  j^oni^^ob 

"You  must  not  talk  that  way,^'  Kingsriorth  said. 
**Your  path  is  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  You  mar- 
ried Martin  Collingwood, —  why,  only  you  and  your 
Maker  know, —  but  you  did  marry  him,  and  you 
have  got  to  stay  with  him.     He  needs  you." 

'*Oh,  you  men!"  she  cried  scornfully.  "And  if 
he  did  not  need  me  —  if  only  I  needed  him  —  it 
would  be  equally  my  duty  to  leave  him.  However 
you  arrange  the  scale  of  duties,  they  are  always  to 
suit  your  own  interests."  ' 

"1  am  thinking  of  this  from  yours,"  Kingsndrth 
said  firmly.  "I  tell  you,  and  I  know,  that  the  one 
thing  the  human  soul  can't  stand  is  to  live  on  com- 
promising with  its  own  self -contempt.  A  woman 
of  your  brains  can't  take  the  liberties  with  her  con- 
science that  her  frivolous  sisters  do.  You  can't 
stand  the  self -contempt.  You  '11  disintegrate  un- 
der it.  Convince  yourself  that  you  are  a  martyr  if 
you  can,  and  hug  your  martyrdom.  They  got 
something  out  of  it  when  it  was  boiling  oil,  and 
melted  lead,  and  crucifixion,  and  all  the  rest  of 

[  301  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

those  horrors.  Be  a  martyr  if  you  must,  but  do  not 
try  living  under  the  weight  of  your  own  self -con- 
tempt. Of  all  failures  that  is  the  weakest,  sad- 
dest, most  loathsome.  Dear  lady,  I  've  carried  mine 
with  me  like  an  atmosphere.  People  have  felt  it; 
you  did.  I  've  seen  you  shrink  from  me  as  if  I 
were  a  leper.  And  you  were  right.  I  am  loath- 
some to  myself." 

He  stopped,  wiped  his  brow,  and  settled  back 
into  his  chair  with  a  heavy  sigh.  Charlotte  sat  on, 
her  trembling  fingers  tightly  clasped,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  sea.  She  turned  at  last  and  shook  her 
head. 

"I  can't.  I  can't  take  up  that  thread  of  life.  I 
don't  know  how  I  got  myself  here  —  it  is  all  a 
nightmare  —  but  I  must  go  away  and  work  —  by 
myself  again." 

Kingsnorth  leaned  forward,  his  hands  loosely 
clasped  between  his  knees. 

"Will  you  listen  to  the  story  of  my  life,  Mrs. 
CoUingwood?"  he  said  with  more  of  sharpness  in 
his  tone  than  was  characteristic  of  him. 

Charlotte  had  little  curiosity  in  anyone  else's  af- 
fairs; but  she  would  have  listened  to  anything  at 
that  moment  to  slip  away  from  the  discussion  of  her 

[302] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

own.     She  nodded  listlessly,  and  Kingsnorth  began 
speaking  in  a  very  judicial  tone. 

"I  was  what  is  called  in  England  well  Born, 
though  my  people  were  not  rich.  My  father  came 
of  a  very  old  and  once  distinguished  family,  but 
was  the  owner  of  an  impoverished  estate.  My 
mother  was  equally  well  born,  and  possessed  a  small 
income  of  her  own.  You  probably  know  that,  in 
England,  the  eldest  son  is  the  family;  nobody  else 
really  counts.  In  our  family  there  were  two  girls, 
then  my  elder  brother,  the  *heir,'  then  myself,  and 
another  girl.  I  cannot  remember  the  time  when  the 
rest  of  us  were  not  all  being  pinched  to  keep  things 
going  for  the  heir.  Tom  was,  on  the  whole,  a  pretty 
good  fellow,  but  that  sort  of  rearing  would  spoil 
the  best  nature  that  was  ever  bom.  He  got  into 
the  way  of  thinking  that  the  rest  of  us  ought  to  sacri- 
fice everything  we  had  or  could  hope  to  have  to  his 
position.  He  was  also  a  devilish  good-looking  fel- 
low, easy-going  and  selfish,  as  was  natural. 

"My  two  elder  sisters  were  promptly  married  off, 
on  the  whole  pretty  well.  The  difficulty  came  with 
Tom.  He  had  to  marry  money,  and  he  had  not 
enough  in  himself  or  the  place  to  make  money  come 
begging  for  him. 

[  303  ] 


of  life  was  also  the  a^y J ^xii'^ 
book  could  irx  staria  it^'so'T  was  put  in  a  bank  in- 
stead.   T  pipoinptly  Ml  head-over-ears  in  love  with 


ley, 

me^  why  slie'^  mW' iiavfe  i!ae.  Therefore  !rio  C)bj6(^- 
tions  were  niade  to  the  engagement.  I  was  in  thfe 
seventh  heaven  of  happiness.  I  do  not  deny  that  I 
was  glad  stie  had  plenty  of  money ;  but  I  should  have 
married  her  just  the  same  if  she  had  not  had  a  centi 
'^  Elena  paid  a' visit  W  my  home  in  the  early  dayiS 
pf  our  betrothal,  arid -^' well,  she  threw  ihe  over 
deliberately  for  my  elder  brother.  Looking  back 
now,  I  can  see  some  excuse  for  Her.  '  T  Was  unim- 
portant in  my  family,  of  course,  aM'TOTh  W^si^^ 
centre.  He  looked  handsome  in  his  uniform,  and 
he  was  the  heir.  The  place  had  age  and  dignity, 
9,pd  sh,e  knew  its  value.  '''  ■*^''  '^*' '  '^''^^^ 

'    "I  give  Tom  the  cfjedit  of  being  ashamed  and  of 
f eeiinff  some  remorse ;  but'  my  f atlfier  and  mother 

tuned  —  aciually  aided  arid  abetted  my  betraya;l. 
ey  Wanted  the  money  for  the  hei^.  ^ 

**I  made  a  row,  naturally,  but  it 'was  fruitless. 


^^^  fjOcusts\  Yeavf 
Elena  wept  and  declared, J^^J.^^}|fijg)Hj^jr3g^^ 
own  way.  Tom  looked  ash^m^dj^  tel'f'f'^'^  ]^ff^^ 
up  had  made  him  constitutionally  selfish;  and^j.^j^g 
parents  on  both  sides  joined  to  suppress  me.  ^  t 
"The  end  was  that  I  cleared  out,  blind  with  rage 
^nd  pain,  cursing  Elena  and  my  kin ;  and  in  the 
next  three  years  in  London  I  went  JxD^wh^J^jsj.CQta 
nionly  known  as  the  dogs.  ^^^^,^  ^^  inlaaiq^i  I  i^ 
^  ;'My  self-pity  is  justifiable^g^}^je|^^fg^-^ij| 

I  made  a  fatal  mistake.  If  |  M^.JiS^d^iife^affl^W 
stuff  in  me,  Elena  could  n't  have  driven,  ^i/d-Liq.^^ 
^ogs.r  1^  might  have  hugged  my  griefs  and /have 
^gwHiepj^bittered;  but  my  worst  niistake  was  tli^ 
desire  to  *drown  sorrow'  with  drink,  with  cards,  wjtj^ 
^11  the  undesirable  vices  of  men.  If  I  had  hugge^ 
sorrow  and  warmed  it  to  my  heart,  I  might  ha^9 
suffered  more,  but  I  should  not. have  ci?umUed  jap 
morally  like  a  gold  ring  in  quicksilver,  ^^.^^^^.j^^  i^^^ 
,;  "England  has  always  a  frontier  >yaj^  WC^^  ■)??? 
her  hands,  and  I  got  into  one,^.,^|i^^jpT^v^^^^ 
man  ranker'  has  a  magnificent  opportunity  to  sink 
in  the  Enghsh  arm^yr  yifter^ards  I  drifted  over 
here,  and  got  into  pearl-fishing.  I  liked  the  lif^ 
and  itsra^dventu^es  (^e^I^f^^  a  bit  in  the 

«^rly  days),  and  then  when,;^^|yimericans  came, 

•^20  imf 


The  Locusts'  Years 

I  fell  in  with  CoUingwood.  We  fancied  each  other 
on  sight.  Then  we  picked  up  Mac,  and  I  lighted 
accidentally  on  this  oyster  bed,  and  we  settled 
here. 

"Throughout  all  these  years  I  have  kept  up  a 
desultory  correspondence  with  my  married  sisters; 
but  I  have  drifted  out  of  their  lives,  and  I  realize 
that  I  represent  to  them  only  a  possible  legacy.  It 
is  my  business  to  make  some  money,  and  one  day 
to  die  and  leave  it  to  them;  and  meanwhile  a  few 
gifts  from  the  Orient  are  not  unacceptable. 

"Well,  to  shorten  this  tale,  I  settled  here  and  mar- 
ried my  wife.  You  need  not  look  so  startled.  She 
was  my  wife  legally;  bell,  book,  and  candle  were 
all  there.  I  lived  openly  with  her  in  my  house  till 
the  morning  when  you  landed  on  Maylubi.  Then, 
after  I  had  seen  and  talked  with  you,  I  went  home 
and  ordered  her  out.  She  loved  me,  and  she  obeyed 
me.  Five  months  later  she  died."  He  stopped  and 
wiped  a  cold  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"But  how  could  you  have  kept  it  from  me?"  cried 
Charlotte.  "Why  did  not  Martin  or  Mrs.  Mac- 
laughlin  tell  me?" 

"Mrs.  Mac  had  her  orders  from  Mac.  She  never 
disobeys  him.     Martin  was  simply  a  good  friend." 

[  306  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

'*But  he  brought  me  here."  She  stopped,  crim- 
soning with  indignation. 

"Precisely.  He  brought  you  here  to  associate 
with  me,  a  respectable  married  man,  as  he  con- 
sidered me.  He  has  never  understood  my  conduct. 
He  does  n't  understand  why  I  preferred  you  to  be- 
lieve me  a  profligate  instead  of  a  decent  married 
man.  He  has  never  understood  why  I  should  be 
willing  to  have  my  child  pass  for  illegitimate.  But 
you  understand,  Mrs.  CoUingwood." 

"Yes,  I  understand."  Then  with  sudden  passion 
she  cried,  "But  it  was  not  my  fault.  I  was  trained 
to  it." 

"As  I  was.  But,  if  I  had  had  one  spark  of  man- 
hood in  me,  I  should  have  stood  by  the  woman  I 
had  married,  and  should  have  taken  my  child  to 
my  heart  in  the  face  of  the  world.  But  I  did  not 
have  the  courage.  I  writhed  and  twisted  to  get  out 
of  facing  the  consequences  of  my  own  actions ;  and 
since  then  the  weight  of  my  own  self -contempt  has 
grown  steadily  heavier.  Don't  talk  to  me  of  re- 
form," he  added  savagely  as  she  started  to  speak. 
"There  is  n't  any  reform  for  such  as  I.  I  tell  you 
the  consciousness  of  my  own  moral  cowardice  is 
with  me  day  and  night.     It  never  leaves  me.     Aad 

[  307  ] 


The  Locusts'  Yearn 

it 's  the  ungodly  unfairness  of  it  all  that  kills  me 
by  inches.  I  see  other  men  about  me,  living  lives 
not  so  very  different  from  mine :  Collingwood  him- 
self has  been  no  saint.  But  because  I  've  wanted 
better  things,  because  I  drank  my  cup,  knowing  that 
it  was  poor  drink,  it  has  not  slaked  my  thirst,  and 

**Don't  you  go  another  foot  along  this  trail;  you 
began  it  when  you  married  Collingwood.  If  you 
double  and  twist  on  your  tracks  again,  you  are  lost. 
Hug  pain,  hug  misery,  martyr  yourself,  if  you  will, 
but  don't  try  to  indulge  your  own  selfish  will,  and 
to  square  things  by  saying  that  you  despise  your- 
self. God  in  Heaven!  Do  you  know  what  it  is 
to  despise  yourself?  You  don't  now;  but  you  will 
some  day."  He  wiped  the  perspiration  that  stood 
in  ffreat  drops  on  his  brow.      .  n         ^ 

Charlotte,  who  had  turned,  very  white,  sat  nerve- 
less and  trembling  like  a  leaf.  All  her  pride  was  in 
arms  that  John  Kingsnorth,  degraded  scion  of  a 
decent  family,  should  be  giving  advice  to  her;  and 
then  she  saw,  with  sudden  horror,  what  a  tremendous 
distance  she  had  drifted  with  the  current  befor^ 
John  Kingsnorth's  words  could  be  true. 

[308] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

-For  they  were  true!  She  had  married  Martin 
Collingwood,  blaming  herself  for  the  weakness  that 
made  hmnan  affection  and  the  freedom  from  the 
responsibihty  of  self-support  loom  larger  than 
all  the  traditions  of  birth  and  breeding.  She  had 
wanted  her  romance  as  every  other  woman  in  the 
world  does ;  and  romance,  as  it  comes  to  most 
women,  had  been  denied  her.  She  might  have  gone 
out  and  found  one,  as  many  a  woman  does,  and 
mighty  in  time,  have  taken  her  flirtations  lightly. 
But  she  had  been  too  timid  and  too  proud  to  flirty 
The  doubt  came  to  her  that  it  would  have  been  bet- 
ter to  play  lightly  at  romance  than  to  purchase  it 
at  the  sacrifice  of  the  second  essential  factor  that 
makes  a  true  marriage.  Then  came  another  throb 
of  terror.  She  saw  herself  bent  wilfully  again  on 
her  own  way,  doubling,  twisting,  as  Kingsnorth 
phrased  it,  trying  to  escape  her  conscience  by  say- 
ing that  she  despised  herself;  but  the  fact  stared 
her  in  the  face  that  she  was  turning  on  all  the  princi- 
ples that  had  justified  romance.  She  had  married 
Collingwood  against  her  reason,  justifying  herself 
for  being  swayed  by  human  feeling  by  reiterating 
the  finality  of  the  action.  For  better,  for;  worse, 
she  had  said  —  but  now  that  it  was  for; worse,  its 

[309] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

finality  had  somehow  disappeared.  Where  was  her 
mind  —  her  will  —  her  conscience  ? 

She  sat  for  a  long  time  in  bitter  silence,  but 
roused  herself  as  Kingsnorth,  who  had  been  fur- 
tively watching  her,  drew  out  his  tobacco  pouch  and 
extracted  from  its  depths  a  little  ball  of  tissue 
paper.  He  unfolded  it,  and  there  appeared  to  her 
startled  eyes  a  single  pearl  of  unusual  size  and 
luster. 

"What  a  beauty!"  she  cried,  bending  forward  to 
look  at  it. 

"Yes,  it 's  beautiful  enough,"  said  Kingsnorth. 
"I  Ve  carried  it  about  with  me  for  three  years. 
Even  Collingwood  has  never  seen  it." 

"I  wish  you  had  not — "  she  stopped,  flushing. 

"I  did  n't  show  it  to  you  to  tempt  you.  It 's  my 
moral  slough.  There  are  times  when  I  've  felt  that 
its  hell  luster  was  my  soul,  and  that  I  had  nothing 
but  the  blackened  shell  in  my  body.  It  stood  for 
the  dearest  emotions  a  man  can  have  —  for  love  and 
vengeance." 

"You  are  horrible,"  she  cried,  shrinking  from 
him. 

"I  am  better  than  I  used  to  be,"  replied  Kings- 
north.     "I  found  this  bauble  three  years  ago,  be- 

[310] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

fore  Martin  and  I  went  into  business.  I  never  in- 
tended to  sell  it.  Do  you  know  what  I  wanted  it 
for?  To  buy  her  back,  and  to  blacken  the  face 
of  the  man  who  stole  her  from  me.  Yes,  shrink! 
God  help  me,  I  love  that  woman  still  with  a  love 
gone  awry.  Other  women,  yes,  and  better  women, 
though  they  had  not  her  grace  and  training,  have 
loved  me;  but,  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  I  have  held 
them  all  cheap.  It  was  she,  the  woman  who  jilted 
me  before  all  the  world,  that  I  wanted.  It  was  he, 
whose  heart  I  wanted  to  wring.  Poor  cheap  hu- 
man nature !  Twelve  years  I  Ve  roughed  it  in 
shacks  and  junks,  a  flannel  shirt  to  my  back,  and 
pork  and  beans  or  rice  and  fish  in  my  stomach; 
while  he  has  sat  beneath  the  oaks  we  played  under 
in  our  childhood,  and  has  slept  in  the  panelled  rooms 
of  our  home,  and  has  held  the  woman  he  stole  from 
me  in  his  arms!  Talk  of  family  affection!  There 
is  n't  such  a  thing.  What  am  I  to  the  mother  who 
bore  me?  A  derelict  son,  adrift  in  the  South  Seas, 
who  is  not  to  come  home  without  some  money. 
What  am  I  to  the  sisters  who  played  with  me  and 
fought  with  me  over  our  nursery  tea?  A  scape- 
grace brother,  who,  it  is  hoped,  will  keep  out  of  the 
way,  but  who  ought  to  make  some  money  and  leave 

[311] 


The  Locusts'  Year^ 

itilto  their  children.  Money!  I'ye  toiled  like  a 
negro  slave  for  money,  but  not  for  them — -not  for 
them!  It  was  for  her.  I  wanted  to  go  back  rich. 
She  sold  herself  once;  why  not  again?  The  pearl 
was  not  enough  in  itself  Jjp  ,tWP^ ,  jil*  qli^j??  ijfe 
bauble,  the  outward  sign."   ......  .,...r»o       -t'"  -  >- -> 

**You  hoped  —  that?"  She  could  not  help 
glancing  at  his  seamed,  degenerate  countenance,^^  I 
f,  "Never  after  you  came.  The  look  in  your  eyes 
told  me  what  I  had  become.  Since  then  I  have 
lived  -—  with  myseljf ^", ,.,  l^p  \  smiled  a  wretched, 
drawn  smile.  |    ^.j^.,,,   '>7l>7/r     l^-Mimn   nmn 

She  pointed  gingerly  to  the:  baub;^^,  ^^  [W^J?^%^^,, 
you  get  rid  of  it  ?  sell  it  ?"  ;;<;,!  r  , ,     i  - ; .,  > 

''Sell  my  soul?  Did  I  not  tell  you  my  soul  is 
steeped  in  it?  No,  bury  it  with  me.  Somehow  J- 
know  I  '11  not  last  long.  Take  this  word  from  me. 
If  you  know  anything  of  me, when  death  comes^ 
see  that  this  does  not  go  to  the  women  who  betrayed 
me  and  pitied  me  not.  Women  are  selfish  creatures^ 
They  sun  themselves  on  their  own  cat  premises. 
They  ,]p^)^e,j:^Q  piijy.f9^  the  pp  devils  on  the,.9jut;' 
side."     /      .  '  V      ■: 

■'Is  it  women  alone?  or  is  n't  it  men  as  well,  whp 
§^e  pitiless  ?    Or  is  n't  it  j  ust  life  ?    Yet  it :  is  ^' j; 

[31^]. 


The  Locusts^  Years 

pitiless  to  all.     There  are  those  who  dance  through 

it  on  rose-strewn  paths."     She  stopped,  the  sense 

of  the  great  differences  in  individual  lives  over- 

whehningher.    IVX  .H:^rT^AHO 

Kingsnorth  rose.     "Well,  that  hasn't  been  my 

life  or  yours.     1  have  seen  that  yoii  suffer.     But 

suffer!    DoiiH   ciiaiige   that  look  on  your   face. 

Better  poignant  suffering  than  nidral  decay.     I  tell 

you,  you  are  facing  it."     He  rose  abruptly  and 

walked  away,  leaving  her  like  a  figure  carved  in 

ivory,  looking  out  on  the  waste  of  waters,  that 

seemed  the  emblem  of  waste  in  her  own  life.^^'"*I 
'AUmvidl   ^jiW   [\n   Jr'.nijtr^^ii    rioiijydo-i    U)   irKmirrrab 

i)30Wfiy  aTuiul  oib  aornrl  lA     /J\\\  lOfl  'io  83on3nftnI 

-/Iifib  oAi  oini  /ifn^  a?;)Iinoiiod  n  ^rXA  isd  o'lolml 

vlflBJivoal  isufii  oda  ihidn  lo  2?.3nfbnoI  hne  gnan 

-Rud  Tad  Aivn  ?^rw  3d?,  an  avor  lo  tnO     .88oIqI^d  :Anh 

,nioholt  'isd  oi  >bfid  :^aio^  lo  iDsqao'iq  sH:^  ,baad 

.otBfqrnainoo  ion  blrmo  sda  ono  rbw  aifi*?.  ?.8rjb7o! 

,'</;'>    >r:Hli  JBdi  'gn'r^/oivA  .'/rU  T^ilij  vf>b  qn  io^  oT 

TOfn  >[oot  odv/  ^(liyd  riBmufl  on  ,[>l'r()7/  ?.int  Up>  in 

Id^hi  iiJ  l)9(f  oi  op;  of  ;'iarl  {jj  !?.•-  Uiffj 

idj  >Iootovo  '£3iaji8il}    [)fiii   niuT    if  ,iiuit    ^  J 

on   /lod  oi  irri/i  blriow  Idyjjodt  xiBrniii; 

ifvunf  on  ,?i89ni'ixjb  sdi  1o  tijo  a; 

r    r  rs>    1 


w 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  the  month  that  elapsed  between  her  con- 
versation with  Kingsnorth  and  the  time  set  by 
CoUingwood  for  his  return,  Charlotte  had  time 
for  an  exhausting  and  (as  it  seemed  to  her)  fruit- 
less self -inquisition.  She  was  alternately  the  prey 
of  a  hopeless  apathy  and  of  a  consuming  im- 
patience, but  in  either  mood  there  ran  a  strong  un- 
dercurrent of  rebellion  against  all  the  formative 
influences  of  her  life.  At  times  the  future  yawned 
before  her  like  a  bottomless  gulf,  into  the  dark- 
ness and  loneliness  of  which  she  must  inevitably 
sink  helpless.  Out  of  love  as  she  was  with  her  hus- 
band, the  prospect  of  going  back  to  her  forlorn, 
loveless  state  was  one  she  could  not  contemplate. 
To  get  up  day  after  day,  knowing  that  there  was, 
in  all  this  world,  no  human  being  who  took  more 
than  a  casual  interest  in  her;  to  go  to  bed  at  night, 
knowing  that,  if  ruin  and  disaster  overtook  the 
world,  no  human  thought  would  turn  to  her,  no 
voice  cry  to  hers  out  of  the  darkness,  no  warm  hu- 

[314] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

man  hand  reach  for  hers,  seemed  to  her  a  fate  in- 
finitely worse  than  death.  Yet  she  had  lived  just 
that  life  for  twenty-eight  years  before  she  married 
Martin  Collingwood  to  escape  from  it ;  and,  though 
she  had  been  most  unhappy  in  it,  she  certainly  had 
not  regarded  it  as  a  tragedy.  She  remembered 
once  having  seen  a  young  soldier  come  forth  from 
the  court-room  after  he  had  received  a  life  sentence 
for  shooting  his  corporal.  The  boy  had  lifted  his 
hat  with  his  manacled  hands  and  had  raised  a  white 
face  to  the  touch  of  the  cool  morning  wind.  Some- 
thing in  the  gesture  had  expressed  his  sense  of  help- 
lessness in  the  grasp  of  that  terrible  thing  we  call 
the  law.  He  was  looking  down  the  long  vista  of 
years  at  a  living  death  ten  thousand  times  worse 
than  death,  at  a  life  from  which  every  human  am- 
bition, every  hope,  every  natural  spring  had  been 
erased.  His  brother  had  followed  behind  him,  a 
short  distance  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  already  the 
emblem  of  a  separation  that  was  to  become  complete. 
The  brother  was  weeping  as  strong  men  do  when 
their  hearts  are  wrung;  but,  as  she  had  looked  at 
them,  one  so  quiet,  the  other  convulsed  with  grief, 
she  had  recognized  that,  to  the  second  man,  life  held 
comfort  and  healing  still.     In  the  long  years  to 

[315] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

come,  new  interests  would  take  the  place  of  the  old 
tie;  a  wife  and  babes  would  fill  that  life;  healthy 
toil  allied  to  honorable  ambition  would  make  the 
years  seem  to  fly;  and  the  memory  of  a  convict 
brother  would  drop  out  of  life,  only  to  be  recalled 
tenderly  at  those  seasons  when  a  universal  festival 
brings  back  the  old  days  and  makes  the  rotting 
thread  of  memory  seem  new  and  strong  once  more. 
But  what  of  the  other?  Nothing  new  would  come 
to  him,  nothing  to  strive  for,  nothing  to  look  for^ 
ward  to,  nothing  to  live  upon  but  memories  that 
would  be  very,  very  bitter.  There  would  be  toil 
and  food  and  rest,  and  renewed  toil,  and  the  awful 
knowledge  that  long  before  he  ceased  to  live  he  had 
ceased  to  be  even  to  those  who  had  been  his  nearest 
and  dearest.       '-  -^"^'^y^'  in'-M    :!-  •        .iW^vn-  n-wll 

Well,  she  had  lived  it  once.  She  could  live  it 
again.  As  with  the  soldier  there  would  be  toil  and 
food  and  rest,  and  renewed  toil.  But  the  heart 
cries  loudly  for  more  than  these  things  in  life,  until 
that  heart  is  chastened  into  meekness.  Would  she 
ever  be  meek,  she  wondered  sadly.  If  she  could 
have  accepted  her  fate  with  submission  and  sadness 
only,  she  would  have  felt  herself  indeed  treated 
with  mercy  by  the  unseen  fates.     But  there  was  no 

[316] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

element  of  submission  in  her  mood.  As  often  as 
she  contemplated  the  future,  and  said  to  herself 
that  these  things  must  be,  had  to  be,  so  often  the 
wild  will  rose  within  her  to  say  that  they  must  not 
be.  She  lay  often  for  hours  at  a  time  face  down- 
ward on  her  bed,  not  a  muscle  moving,  not  a  sound 
escaping  her  tense  lips;  but  her  passivity  was  the 
physical  expression  of  an  impotence  that  left  her 
prostrate  before  the  overwhelming  fates. 

Often  there  recurred  to  her  mind  a  conversation 
which  had  taken  place  between  her  and  a  fellow 
nurse,  a  young,  joyous,  magnetic  creature  for  whom 
she  had  formed  a  friendship  more  nearly  approxi- 
mating intimacy  than  any  other  that  had  come  into 
her  life.  It  was  in  the  last  days  of  her  engage- 
ment, and  she  had  spoken  of  a  fear  of  what  un- 
happiness  love  might  bring  into  her  life.  The 
other  had  looked  at  her  with  amazement.  "Love!" 
she  said.  "I  can  imagine  it  bringing  a  lot  of  joy, 
but  why  unhappiness  ?" 

"Why  unhappiness?"  Charlotte  asked  in  vain 
for  the  reason;  but  the  fact  stood  stronger  than 
any  "why's,"  that  there  had  been,  in  all  her  life, 
some  fundamental  outrage  of  human  sentiment.  It 
had  existed  in  that  strange  paternal  attitude  of  her 

[  317  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

father's;  it  had  lived  on  in  that  perfunctory  kind- 
ness of  the  nuns  who  had  found  her  an  antipathetic 
and  incomprehensible  child;  and  it  had  grown  and 
intensified  in  the  curious,  prying  interest  developed 
in  those  who  had  governed  her  later  years.  That 
any  such  a  condition  could  exist  by  a  series  of 
fortuitous  events  was  out  of  the  question.  There 
had  to  be  cause  running  through  it  all.  Yet  search 
her  heart  and  mind  as  she  would,  she  found  there 
no  wells  of  bitterness  or  evil  thought  or  envy  or 
malice  to  justify  relations  so  peculiar  as  had  fin- 
ally established  themselves  between  her  and  hu- 
man society. 

The  solution  of  the  question  came  to  her  suddenly, 
when,  on  a  particularly  dreary  day,  she  had  been 
trying  to  discipline  herself  and  to  keep  her  thoughts 
from  running  on  her  own  troubles.  She  had  spent 
two  hours  trying  to  read  the  story,  written  by  a 
great  modern  author,  of  three  precocious  school- 
boys. She  had  been  a  great  admirer  of  the  author, 
and,  up  to  that  time,  had  found  fascination  in  his 
pages ;  but  the  three  boys  were  little  to  her  taste.  As 
she  mused  sadly,  a  flash  of  insight  came,  and  an- 
other; and,  little  by  little,  she  saw  clearly  what  had 
so  long  puzzled  her. 

[318] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

The  precocious  child  is  abnormal,  and  inspires  in 
his  fellow  men  that  blind  instinct  to  worry  and  tor- 
ment which  runs  all  through  the  animal  world.  She 
had  been  a  prococious  child,  made  uncanny  by  per- 
ceptions of  the  hidden  currents  and  causes  of  life  at 
a  time  when  she  should  have  been  gurgling  over 
its  toys.  As  she  recalled  her  sensitiveness  to  impres- 
sions, her  powers  of  reading  what  was  passing  in 
others'  minds,  and  the  singular  growth  of  self -con- 
cealment and  self-control  that  had  grown  out  of 
them,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  keen  brain  had  been 
her  lifelong  curse.  Little  by  little,  she  went  back 
to  her  convent  days  and  tried  to  put  herself  in  the 
place  of  the  good  sisters  who  had  taught  her.  How 
distressing  it  must  have  been  to  them  to  feel  the 
dumb  interrogation  that  was  always  so  strong  un- 
der outward  obedience !  If  she  could  have  been  un- 
conscious of  her  father's  mental  state  and  could 
have  made  a  happy  child's  claim  upon  his  affec- 
tions, would  he  not  in  time  have  come  to  love  her? 
If,  when  she  was  a  lonely  orphan,  living  on  her 
cousin's  sufferance,  she  had  been  able  to  reveal  to 
her  relatives  the  suffering  that  she  really  under- 
went in  the  strange  ostracism  which  she  had  built  up 
for  herself,  would  not  pity  have  conquered  their 

[  319  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

selfishness?  She  drew  a  long,  pained  sigh,  as  she 
thought  of  what  a  diif  erence  might  have  been  made 
in  her  life  by  a  little  less  brain  and  a  little  more 
^moral  courage. 

She  was  lying  in  her  steamer  chair  on  the  veranda 
of  her  house  at  the  time;  and  by  her  side,  on  a 
taboret,  stood  a  glass  of  water.  She  picked  it  up 
and  smiled  over  it.  It  was  full  of  microbes  ( dead, 
of  course,  for  Americans  drink  no  unboiled  water 
in  the  Philippines) ,  and  she  knew  it,  and  cared  little, 
for  she  could  not  see  them.  But  had  she  possessed 
an  eye  with  the  magnifying  power  of  a  strong 
microscope,  she  could  not  have  tasted  the  water  for 
the  sight  of  the  dead  organisms  would  have  made 
it  unpalatable.  She  began  to  wonder  what  would 
be  the  effect  on  society,  if  there  were  let  loose  upon 
it  a  body  of  persons  with  microscopic  eyes.  They 
would  shrink  and  exclaim  and  turn  faint  at  dishes 
that  the  epicure  delights  in.  How  they  would 
upset  dinners  and  spoil  little  suppers  and  picnic 
luncheons!  How  eagerly  would  their  society  be 
avoided,  and  how  soon  their  name  become  anathema  1 

But  though  physically  the  microscopic  eye  does 
not  yet  exist,  the  mental  and  spiritual  microscopic 
eye  does  exist,  and  it  has  about  the  same  distressing 

[320] 


The  Locusts    J^ears 

effect  upon  its  human  brethren  who  do  not  possess 
it  as  the  other  sort  might  have.  She  had  had  the 
microscopic  eye  —  nothing  could  blind  her  to  facts 

—  and  her  starts  and  shrinkings  had  made  her  anti- 
pathetic to  most  of  the  persons  with  whom  she  had 
come  in  contact.  It  had  remained  for  Martin,  the 
indomitably  ignorant,  to  be  blind  to  her  mental  at- 
titude, to  assume  her  a  normal  woman  of  the  world 
in  which  he  found  her.  What  of  gratitude  did  she 
not  owe  him? 

The  thought  pricked  her  to  her  feet,  set  her  to 
restless  pacings  of  the  floor.  Whatever  of  grati- 
tude she  owed  him,  she  was  preparing  ingratitude 
in  the  course  she  was  still  bent  upon  pursuing. 
Never  had  she  appreciated  the  stubborn  inheritance 
of  her  own  will  till  she  measured  herself  against  it 
in  this  struggle.  Whatever  the  conscience  and  the 
intelUgence  might  say,  her  will  said  "No"  as  often 
as  she  contemplated  forgiving  Martin  and  going 
back  to  her  life  with  him.  The  feeling  which  had 
been  warm  in  her  heart  for  him  so  long  was  dead 

—  killed  by  his  own  brutal  words,  buried  in  her  own 
shame  and  self-reproach.  She  saw  with  unutter- 
able sadness,  that  there  was  no  hope  of  its  resuscita- 
tion.    But  did  that  break  the  tie  that  she  had  of  her 

21  [  SU  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

own  volition  forged?  Could  not  that  same  will  of 
hers  which  resisted  so  bitterly  be  schooled  to  duty 
and  to  right?  For  against  a  year's  tenderness  and 
kindness,  where  was  the  justice  of  weighing  the 
utterances  of  a  single  hour  of  pain  and  disappoint- 
ment? The  one  ought  not  to  balance  the  other. 
She  had  no  right  to  think  so  for  an  instant.  Alas, 
though,  one  did  balance  the  other,  outweighed  it 
many  times! 

Her  marriage  had  been  all  wrong.  But  had  she 
been  less  conscious  of  the  fact  on  the  day  she  mar- 
ried him  than  on  the  day  when  she  vainly  struggled 
to  convince  herself  that  she  ought  to  go  on  living 
with  him?  Marriage  can  not  be  for  love  alone 
any  more  than  it  can  be  for  selfish  material  in- 
terest alone.  In  its  appeal  to  human  emotion  and 
in  its  relation  to  the  family  it  may  be,  as  the  church 
calls  it,  a  sacrament;  but  marriage  as  a  lifelong 
partnership  must  have  its  material  side.  Love  must 
enter  in;  but  no  healthy  marriage  can  exist,  unless 
there  be  equally  the  consciousness  of  a  good  bar- 
gain, of  a  legitimate  exchange  of  values,  added  to 
the  affection  which  sanctifies  it.  Well,  Collingwood 
had  played  fairly.  It  was  she  who  had  entered  into 
the  alliance,  knowing  its  weakness,  knowing  herself. 

[322] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

But  did  she  know  herself?  What  more  that  was 
disappointing  and  agonizing  was  she  to  learn  of 
herself?  What  was  even  then  struggling  in  her 
hreast?  Was  there  some  secret  hope  holding  itself 
in  concealment  behind  her  oft  repeated  thought 
that  life  was  ended  for  her?  Did  some  hidden  am- 
bition prompt  her  to  take  the  step  that  she  believed 
came  from  self-respect?  She  had  learned  only  too 
well  her  capacity  for  self-deception.  She  had  ad- 
vanced step  by  step  along  the  path  by  which  she 
had  come  to  the  church  door  with  Martin  CoUing- 
wood,  denying  every  motive  which,  in  the  end,  had 
proved  itself  the  stronger.  Was  it  possible  that  she 
was  turning  blindly,  as  women  naturally  turn,  to  a 
second  man  to  lift  her  from  the  wreck  to  which  she 
had  brought  her  life  with  the  first?  Again  she 
faced  that  truth  which  she  had  long  before  dis- 
covered, that  too  passionate  a  denial  constitutes  an 
assertion ;  and  while  every  atom  of  her  intelligence 
bade  her  distrust  her  own  sophistry,  every  throb  of 
a  strong  emotional  nature  bade  her  turn  from  the 
conclusions  of  her  reason. 

In  these  hours  of  agonizing  inquisition  when  her 
soul  seemed  literally  torn  in  two,  she  contemplated 
with  added  despair,  the  loss  of  her  early  religious 

[323] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

faith.  It  did  not  come  back  to  her  in  the  least. 
No  impulse  for  prayer  seized  her.  The  conviction 
that  the  world  is  made  up  of  blind  forces,  and  that 
there  is  no  help  outside  of  ourselves  was  very  strong 
in  her.  She  might  pray  and  pray,  but  when  she 
arose  from  her  knees,  the  elements  of  struggle  would 
be  there  still,  tearing  at  her,  filling  her  soul  with 
pain.  Prayer  would  not  bring  sleep  to  her  acliing 
eyeballs  in  the  night,  it  would  not  silence  the  cry 
in  her  heart,  it  would  not  keep  the  thronging 
thoughts  from  her  weary  brain.  Time  alone  could 
do  that.  Give  her  time  —  she  smiled  bitterly  — 
and  change  of  circumstances,  and  she  might  put 
the  experiences  of  the  last  three  years  behind  her, 
put  even  the  man  who  had  ruled  her  life  and  thought 
for  a  year  (and  a  happy  year)  behind  her. 

Of  course  she  wrestled  with  the  temptations 
which  must  present  themselves  to  the  intelligent 
mind  which  has  had  the  ways  of  the  world  set  be- 
fore it.  Intelligence  said  that  nothing  mattered  ex- 
cept the  material.  She  could  be  good  or  bad,  noble 
or  contemptible,  so  long  as  she  played  her  game  well 
and  kept  on  good  terms  with  that  thing  we  call  the 
world.  Little  the  world  cares  what  we  do  or  what 
we  are,  said  intelligence;  the  question  with  it  is  how 

[324] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

much  power  do  we  own  in  this  vale  of  tears.  In- 
telligence told  her  that  with  the  backing  of  her 
family  and  the  successful  use  of  her  own  powers, 
and  with  Judge  Barton's  political  influence,  they 
two  might  make  a  very  comfortable  place  for  them- 
selves in  this  material  universe.  She  felt  danger- 
ously sure  of  the  Judge.  The  knowledge  had  come 
to  her  (how  she  knew  not)  that  all  she  needed  to  in- 
sure her  an  absolute  dominion  over  the  man's  soul 
was  a  little  less  moral  fastidiousness,  a  little  more 
worldliness.  Indeed,  a  strange  confidence  in  her 
own  powers  of  attraction  was  working  itself  out 
of  all  the  miserable  situation.  She  realized  how 
completely  she  had  under-estimated  her  own  charm. 
Less  conscience,  less  good  taste,  more  charity 
(which  is  a  much  misused  term  in  these  days,  sig- 
nifying lack  of  all  social  and  moral  tradition),  in 
fact,  a  general  elimination  of  the  best  qualities  of 
her  nature  would  constitute  a  humanizing  process 
which  would  work  decidedly  to  her  material  ad- 
vantage. But  she  was  not  willing  to  submit  her- 
self to  the  process.  She  wanted  her  own  way,  and 
she  wanted  to  remain  her  ideal  self.  More  and 
more  clearly  she  saw  the  unreasonableness  of  her 
demand. 

[325] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

So  the  days  slipped  by  one  by  one,  and  she  marked 
them  off  on  her  calendar.  In  the  end,  the  time  for 
the  launch  to  go  up  to  Romblon  arrived  without 
her  having  taken  any  decisive  steps  toward  the  act 
which  she  still  declared  to  herself  she  was  bent  upon. 
She  excused  herself  on  the  ground  of  Martin's  let- 
ter, saying  to  herself  that  she  owed  him  a  personal 
interview  and  explanation  for  her  refusal  to  accept 
his  offer  of  reconciliation.  But  in  truth,  she  was 
pulling  away  again  from  the  uncomfortable.  She 
could  contemplate  the  action,  but  until  circum- 
stances more  disagreeable  than  those  she  was  en- 
during forced  her  into  activity,  she  would  not  take 
a  decisive  step. 

It  had  been  the  original  intention  that  Kingsnorth 
should  take  the  launch  over  for  Collingwood,  but, 
as  the  time  slipped  by,  and  the  typhoon  season  was 
at  hand  this  idea  was  deemed  impracticable.  Mac- 
laughlin  was  a  licensed  engineer,  while  Kingsnorth 
was  not,  and  the  launch  was  not  in  the  best  of  re- 
pair. 

Maclaughlin  left  at  daybreak  on  an  exceedingly 
hot  morning,  when  the  sea  rolled  lazily  in  long, 
metallic  swells  shining  as  if  the  brilliant  surface 

[  326  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

were  oiled.  All  that  day  the  heat  was  like  a  vapor, 
but  in  mid-afternoon  the  clouds  rolled  up,  showers 
fell  at  intervals,  and  cool  gusts  of  wind  made  the 
cocoanut  trees  writhe  and  their  stiff  leaves  to  rattle. 
Once  or  twice  Charlotte  looked  at  the  barometer, 
which  fell  steadily. 

At  dinner  their  common  anxiety  made  the  three 
more  companionable  than  anyone  had  hoped  to  be. 
"We  are  going  to  have  a  baguio,  that 's  flat,"  said 
Kingsnorth,  "but  it  has  been  kind  in  holding  off. 
Mac  's  safe  in  Romblon  harbor  by  this  time,  and 
that  is  landlocked,  and  shut  in  by  mountains.  If 
Collingwood  is  there,  they  '11  wait  anyway  to  come 
out.  Mac 's  got  sense  enough  not  to  leave  port  on 
a  f  alUng  barometer,  though  Collingwood  might  take 
the  chances." 

"I  hope  Martin  is  n't  out  on  the  ocean  to-night," 
said  Charlotte.  "It  makes  me  ill  to  think  of  it." 
She  shivered  and  glanced  into  the  darkness  where 
the  oily  surf  fell  over  in  ghostly  green  fire,  and  the 
wash  rolled  back  pricked  with  millions  of  vanishing 
light  points. 

"Spooky,  isn't  it?"  remarked  Kingsnorth.  He 
set  down  his  coffee-cup   (they  were  just  finishing 

[  327  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

dinner) ,  and  as  his  hostess  rose,  held  back  the  rat- 
tling shell  curtain  for  her,  then  went  to  inspect 
the  barometer.     He  whistled. 

'What  is  it?"  inquired  Mrs.  Mac 

"Oh,  just  so-so."  Something  in  his  tone  be- 
trayed an  effort  to  retrieve  the  impression  made  by 
his  bit  of  carelessness.  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  went  over 
to  the  instrument. 

"It 's  nearly  750,"  she  said  in  a  dismayed  tone.* 
"I  've  never  known  it  to  go  that  low  without  warn- 
ing since  I  Ve  lived  on  the  island.  I  wish  Mac  and 
Martin  were  here." 

Charlotte  said  nothing,  but  in  her  heart  she  echoed 
the  other's  words. 

"Can't  be  helped,"  replied  Kingsnorth,  curtly. 
"I  hope  that  you  will  not  feel  it  presumptuous  in 
me  to  suggest  that  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  stay  with  you 
to-night,  Mrs.  CoUingwood.  I  '11  come  over  also 
if  there  is  anything  very  bad." 

Both  women  were  grateful  for  the  suggestion. 

*  Barometric  pressure  in  Philippines  is  measured  in  millimeters. 
In  typhoons  where  fifth  signal  is  flown,  about  742  is  lowest  pressure 
recorded.  In  great  storm  of  1908,  739.8  was  lowest.  Generally  the 
falling  of  the  barometer  is  gradual  for  several  days  during  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  storm.  When  it  falls  suddenly,  as  here  indicated, 
before  a  storm,  it  means  that  a  storm  of  short  duration  but  of 
terrific  violence  is  coming. 

[3^8] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

Each  had  been  secretly  longing  to  broach  the  mat- 
ter, and  had  felt  ashamed  to  do  so. 

"I  '11  go  over  with  you  while  you  lock  up  your 
place,"  said  Kingsnorth  to  Mrs.  Maclaughlin. 
They  disappeared  almost  instantly  in  the  profound 
blackness  of  the  night.  Charlotte  marvelled  at  it. 
The  gloom  was  like  a  solid  substance  save  where 
the  phosphorescence  showed  a  glimpse  of  foaming 
suds,  and  a  few  lights  gleaming  from  the  distant 
village  seemed  golden  by  contrast  with  the  green  and 
blue  fires. 

The  servants  all  begged  leave  to  absent  themselves 
for  the  night.  Each  had  discovered  an  ailing  rela- 
tive in  the  village  to  whom  his  presence  was  an 
absolute  necessity. 

"Let  'em  go,"  said  Kingsnorth,  *'They  are  in 
a  dead  fright.  They  know  we  '11  probably  have 
Tophet  before  the  night  is  over,  and  they  want  to 
get  into  their  flock."  Even  as  he  spoke,  a  little 
moan  of  wind  came  off  the  sea,  and  a  pattering 
shower  drenched  the  earth. 

"Curtain  rung  up,"  said  Kingsnorth.  He  had 
been  standing  tentatively,  hat  in  hand,  after  escort- 
ing back  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  and  some,  as  it  seemed 
to  Charlotte,  preposterously  large  bundles.     Char- 

[329] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

lotte  motioned  him  to  a  chair.  "We  may  as  well 
watch  the  first  act,"  she  smiled,  humoring  his 
metaphor. 

"Just  as  well,"  he  answered,  "because  I  fancy 
we  '11  be  on  the  second." 

"Do  you  mean  that  there  may  be  any  actual 
danger?"  Charlotte  asked,  startled. 

"Danger?  no!  At  the  worst  we  might  have  to 
spend  a  night  under  the  pandan  bushes.  But  one 
of  these  big  storms  is  a  trying  thing  while  it  lasts." 

''Trying  is  n't  the  word,"  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  pre- 
cipitated this  dictum  into  the  conversation  with  her 
usual  vigor.  "It's  just  nerve-wracking.  Lord! 
Lord!  what  fools  we  women  are!  Here  are  two  of 
us  out  here  likely  to  be  swallowed  up  by  a  tidal 
wave  or  Heaven  only  knows  what,  just  because  we 
were  so  tarnation  ready  to  take  up  with  a  man. 
I  've  traipsed  around  this  world  at  Andrew  Mac- 
laughlin's  heels  twenty-two  years,  and  the  good 
Lord  only  knows  what  he  has  n't  asked  me  to  go 
through  with ;  and  now  he  's  left  me  unprotected  in 
the  face  of  the  biggest  storm  we  're  likely  to  have." 
She  fairly  choked  with  fear  and  anger. 

Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  imtrammelled  speech  was  at 
all  times  an  affront  to  Kingsnorth.     The  intima- 

[330] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

tion  that  he  was  a  poor  substitute  for  Maclaughlin 
as  a  protector  stung  him.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice 
had  a  quality  of  suave  ughness  that  grated  hke  a 
rasped  saw  on  Charlotte's  nerves. 

"You  're  panicky,"  he  said.  "Why  don't  you 
pattern  on  Mrs.  Collingwood  and  me?  We  're 
ready  for  anything;  are  we  not,  dear  lady?" 

A  heavy  gust  of  wind  and  another  downpour 
silenced  them  all  for  a  few  seconds. 

"This,"  said  Kingsnorth  to  Charlotte,  as  the  gust 
subsided,  "is  just  preliminary  to  the  theme;  it 's  the 
scale  playing  in  the  key  with  which  the  virtuoso  daz- 
zles his  audience  before  he  rolls  up  his  cuffs,  runs 
both  hands  through  his  hair,  and  gets  into  the  first 
movement.     Ah,  here  's  the  theme." 

"What 's  a  virtuoso?"  snapped  Mrs.  Maclaugh- 
Hn. 

"A  virtuoso  is  a  gentleman  who  can  play  the 
piano  or  some  other  instrument  exceedingly  well," 
Kingsnorth  rephed,  with  the  same  dangerous 
suavity. 

"I  hate  the  nasty  long-haired  things."  It  was 
quite  evident  that  Mrs.  Mac's  nerves  had  gone  to 
sphnters.     Charlotte  threw  herself  into  the  breach. 

"Well,  don't  hate  this  storm,"  she  said,  "even  if 
[331] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

Mr.  Kingsnorth  did  compare  it  to  a  sonata.  It 's 
beautiful.  It 's  grand."  Another  howl  and  down- 
pour, and  this  time  the  framework  of  the  house 
shivered  under  its  impact. 

**Merely  the  andante/'  said  Kingsnorth,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders. 

"You  make  my  blood  run  cold,"  cried  Mrs.  Mae- 
laughlin. 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  him,  but  Charlotte  knew 
that  his  lips  were  apart  and  his  teeth  grinning  in 
an  evil  smile. 

"But  why,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin?"  said  Charlotte 
suddenly.  "If  danger  is  coming,  it  will  come.  No 
human  power  can  stop  it.  The  future  is  as  un- 
readable as  the  very  sky.  But  why  borrow  trouble 
for  what  we  are  powerless  to  resist?  And  if  there 
is  beauty  and  majesty  in  all  this  conflict  of  the  ele- 
ments, surely  it  is  better  to  see  that,  than  to  sit 
dreading  the  unknown.  Mr.  Kingsnorth's  com- 
parisons are  not  unjust.  It  is  like  a  great  piece 
of  music,  divided  into  movements.  Whatever  it 
may  come  to  later,  it  is  glorious  now." 

"Spoken  like  a  brave  woman,"  Kingsnorth  cried. 
"Let  loose  the  dogs  of  war  and  make  Rome  howl! 
Well,  we  don't  care;  do  we,  Mrs.  Collingwood ?" 

[332] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

"Not  much,"  Charlotte  assented,  though  some- 
what coldly.  Her  mamier  brought  him  to  a  sud- 
den check. 

"I  forgot,"  he  stammered.     "Excuse  me." 

"Forgot  what?"  This  point  blank  query  about 
a  remark  not  addressed  to  herself  emanated  from 
Mrs.  Maclaughlin. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Mac,"  Kingsnorth  said,  and  Char- 
lotte winced  at  his  tone,  "you  do  not  realize  how 
quickly  you  deteriorate  once  out  of  reach  of  Mac's 
disciplining  eye.  Mac  would  never  have  permitted 
you  to  ask  that  question.  I  often  wonder  if,  had 
it  been  my  good  fortune  to  marry,  I  should  have 
been  able  to  exert  the  strong  guiding  influence  over 
my  wife  that  Mac  evidently  holds  over  you." 

"Oh,  you  have,"  replied  Mrs.  Mac,  while  Char- 
lotte sat  in  helpless  embarrassment  at  the  scene. 
"Well,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  wouldn't  have. 
You  might  have  broken  her  heart,  the  Lord  knows, 
as  you  'd  probably  have  broken  your  children's 
spirits,  if  you  'd  *a'  had  'em;  but  no  woman  would 
ever  be  proud  to  be  ruled  by  you  as  I  'm  proud  to 
be  ruled  by  Mac.  I  'm  disciplined.  You  hit  the 
nail  on  the  head  there.  And  maybe  I  fall  back 
when  Mac  is  n't  around.     But  I  love  that  old  man 

[333] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

of  mine.  I  Ve  followed  him  over  deserts  and 
oceans.  I  may  have  let  my  mind  go  once  in  a 
while;  but  no  woman  on  God's  green  earth  would 
have  married  you  and  lived  with  you  twenty-two 
years,  and  still  have  loved  you  as  I  love  Mac.  I  Ve 
been  rebellious  sometimes  with  the  Almighty,  and 
it  hasn't  always  seemed  as  if  the  powers  above 
knew  what  they  were  about.  But  the  good  Lord 
did  a  wise  thing  when  He  kept  women  and  children 
out  of  your  hands,  John  Kingsnorth."  She  arose 
with  a  snort  of  wrath  and  passed  into  the  house. 
"Where's  my  Bible?"  they  heard  her  saying  to 
herself.     "I  brought  it." 

For  a  second  or  two,  Charlotte  remained  like 
Kingsnorth,  half  paralyzed  by  the  outburst.  Then 
a  helpless,  pitying  embarrassment  settled  upon  her. 
It  was  all  so  terribly  true,  it  was  such  a  baring  of 
naked  underfeelings.  Would  it  ever  be  possible, 
she  wondered,  to  resume  the  island  life  after  such 
an  indecent  exposure  of  what  simmered  deep  in 
Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  heart?  Then,  as  the  silence 
grew,  she  cast  about  vainly  for  some  change  of 
subject.  As  if  divining  her  thoughts,  Kingsnorth 
rose. 

"Already  the  tempest  has  broken,"  he  said. 
[  334  1 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"It 's  been  brewing  three  years.  I  can't  complain; 
and  I  know  you  think  she  told  the  truth." 

A  sudden  impulse  stirred  Charlotte.  "No,  no," 
she  said.  "You  must  not  think  that.  I  believe 
that,  if  you  had  married  the  right  woman  (that 's 
the  stock  phrase,  isn't  it?)  you  would  have  been 
a  tender  husband,  and  if  you  had  had  children,  a 
kind  father.  I  don't  know  what  perversity  of  fate 
kept  those  influences  out  of  your  life,  but  all  that 
is  wayward  in  you  and  bitter  seems  to  have  been 
caused  by  their  lack." 

She  uttered  the  words  with  real  warmth,  and  for 
an  instant  wondered  that  he  made  no  reply.  Then, 
as  the  pause  grew  more  marked,  she  heard  him 
breathing  heavily,  and  it  flashed  into  her  mind  that 
the  man  was  on  the  point  of  an  utter  breakdown. 
Her  few  sincere  words  had  gone  straight  through 
the  armor  that  Mrs.  Maclaughhn's  blows  had  ap- 
parently failed  to  affect.  An  absolute  horror  of 
such  a  possibility  seized  upon  her.  They  had  had, 
she  felt,  an  indecent  exhibition  of  naked  human 
emotions.  If  more  were  to  follow,  what  inti- 
mate revelations  might  not  take  place?  Yet  the  im- 
possibihty  of  uttering  some  banality  was  clear  to 
her  mind.     Anything  short  of  the  sincerity  and  ear- 

[S35] 


The  Locusts*  Years 

nestness  demanded  by  the  situation  would  be  in- 
sulting. So  she  remained  as  if  transfixed,  in  a 
kind  of  shivering  expectation  of  what  might  be 
coming. 

Kingsnorth,  however,  pulled  himself  together 
after  a  convulsive  movement  or  two  of  his  chest. 
He  stood  for  an  instant  without  a  word,  and  then 
walked  away  to  his  own  quarters,  whence  Char- 
lotte soon  heard  his  voice  shouting  angrily  for  his 
servant. 

Mrs.  Maclaughlin,  somewhat  appeased  by  finding 
the  Bible  which  she  had  brought  along  for  her  usual 
nightly  chapter,  came  out  on  the  piazza  as  the 
strident  tones  of  Kingsnorth  penetrated  the  sit- 
ting-room. 

"Taking  it  out  on  his  boy,"  she  remarked. 
"Well,  I  've  been  aching  to  tell  the  truth  to  John 
Kingsnorth  for  two  years,  and  now  I  Ve  done  it." 

"Do  you  feel  any  better  for  it?" 

"Yes  —  no.  I  'm  always  sorry  when  I  blurt  out. 
He  's  right :  Mac  holds  me  in."  Her  voice  broke. 
"Oh,  my  Lord!  My  Lord!  I  wish  I  knew  where 
he  was  this  minute.  You  're  a  strange  woman, 
Charlotte  Collingwood.  You  sit  here  and  watch 
them  waves  roll  in  and  hear  the  wind  blowing,  and 

[336] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

you  don't  seem  to  give  one  thought  to  the  man  that 
you  Ve  lived  here  with  side  by  side  for  a  year. 
Ain't  you  got  no  love  for  him?" 

Charlotte  put  up  a  hand.  "I  can't  discuss  that 
with  you,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin.  Surely  I  have  made 
it  plain  before  this." 

"You  've  made  a  lot  plain,"  replied  Mrs.  Mac- 
laughlin. There  was  endless  reservation  in  her 
tone.  It  heaped  such  mountains  of  unuttered  re- 
proach that  Charlotte  quite  bowed  under  it. 

"The  rain  is  coming  in  strong,"  said  Mrs.  Mac- 
laughlin, when  she  had  extracted  sufficient  healing 
from  her  companion's  discomfort.  "You  '11  get 
drenched  out  here.  I  'm  going  to  read  my  Bible. 
You  had  better  come  in." 

But  Charlotte  motioned  her  away.  "I  'm  not 
religiously  inclined  to-night,"  she  replied. 

"Charlotte  Collingwood,  do  you  defy  your 
Maker?" 

"I  'm  rebeUious  to-night,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin. 
There  are  His  waves  and  His  winds,  but  still  I  'm 
rebellious.  I  'm  not  apologetic  to-night,  not  even 
in  the  face  of  a  bagtdo,'' 

"I  '11  speak  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  ear- 
nestly. She  went  inside,  closed  the  doors  and  shell 
22  [SSI] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

windows  to  keep  out  the  storm,  and  Charlotte  heard 
her  keeping  her  word.  Mrs.  Maclaughhn's  prayers 
were  simple  but  fervent.  They  seemed  to  consist 
chiefly  of  a  few  reiterated  sentences.  "O  Lord, 
protect  and  save  my  old  husband.  You  know  I 
love  him.  Lord;  but  it  is  n't  all  selfishness.  O  God, 
give  me  back  my  Mac."  At  times  she  asked  that 
the  Divine  Power  might  soften  the  hardened  heart 
of  Mrs.  Collingwood. 


[338] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MEANWHILE,  the  object  of  her  solici- 
tation sat  on  in  a  mood  terribly  blended 
of  recklessness  and  despair.  No  shadow 
of  fear  darkened  the  almost  ecstatic  rebellion  of 
her  mood.  As  the  tempest  gathered  force,  and 
gusts  of  savage  violence  hurtled  themselves  out  of 
the  crashing  void  in  front,  the  rain  was  driven  like 
fine  shot  before  them.  In  the  lulls  the  great  organ 
of  the  surf  filled  the  starless  night  with  crashing 
harmonies,  and  through  sound  or  silence  a  snow  field 
of  tumbling  froth  showed  a  spectral  glimmering 
through  the  inky  gloom.  A  crimson  glow  came 
through  the  transparencies  of  Kingsnorth's  shell 
windows,  a  touch  of  warmth  in  the  blinding  con- 
vulsion of  nature.  In  the  distant  Filipino  village 
no  lights  showed;  and  it  was  only  after  a  consider- 
able time  that  Charlotte  became  aware  that  she 
missed  them,  and  missed  seeing,  too,  the  riding 
lights  of  the  launch,  which,  on  cloudy  night  or  clear, 

[  339  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

had  shone  out  brightly  against  the  dark  outline  of 
the  hills  above  the  cove. 

For  three  hours  she  remained  in  the  storm, 
drenched,  her  wet  hair  torn  down  by  the  blasts; 
her  being  full  of  tumultuous  welcome  to  the  mad 
elements  that  seemed  to  threaten  her.  They  were  so 
harmonious  with  her  sense  of  desolation,  of  failure, 
of  wrecked  effort,  that  for  a  time  it  hardly  occurred 
to  her  that  they  could  mean  other  than  destruction. 
She  pictured  herself  hurled  about  in  the  seething 
waste  before  her;  but  no  thrill  of  fear  entered  her 
heart.  She  almost  yearned  for  the  struggle,  the 
helpless  physical  effort,  the  very  pain  of  dissolu- 
tion. The  house  rocked  under  the  blows  of  the 
wind,  but  she  hardly  noticed  them.  She  was  joy- 
fully expectant  of  the  blow  that  should  shatter  and 
end  all,  and  should  take  forever  from  her  the  agony 
of  deciding  between  two  evils.  She  rose  and,  grasp- 
ing the  rails  of  the  piazza,  tried  to  breast  the  full 
force  of  the  wind  and  shot  driven  rain,  but  it  drove 
her  back,  and  knocked  her  flat  upon  the  veranda 
floor. 

She  must  have  been  slightly  stunned  by  knock- 
ing her  head  against  a  chair,  for  she  was  next  con- 
scious of  blurred  thoughts,  of  a  spent,  chill  body 

[340] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

and  of  great  mental  and  physical  lassitude.  Her 
mood  of  elation  had  departed.  She  was  confused, 
fearful  of  the  crashing  thunder  of  surf  and  storm. 
In  a  lull,  she  dragged  herself  to  her  feet  and  opened 
the  door  of  her  house. 

The  room,  with  its  touches  of  refinement  and 
beauty,  looked  hospitable  and  attractive  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  it  was  dripping  where  great  torn 
patches  in  the  thatched  roof  let  in  the  torrent.  Mrs. 
Mac  knelt  by  the  table,  her  eyes  fixed,  her  lips 
moving.  She  uttered  the  one  phrase  over  and  over 
in  a  heart-broken  tone,  "O  God,  keep  my  old  man. 
God  take  care  of  my  Mac." 

Charlotte,  a  wild,  torn,  drenched  figure,  stood 
contemplating  her  for  a  moment,  half  in  contempt ; 
then,,  as  the  burden  of  the  other's  cry  pierced  her 
brain,  a  sudden  wave  of  pity  and  affection  swept 
aside  the  egoistic  defiance  of  her  nxood. 

"Martin,"  she  said  softly,  and  each  word  came 
like  the  musical  utterance  of  grief.  "O  Martin!" 
She  turned  again  toward  the  sea  and  its  howling 
terrors  just  as  a  gust  blew  out  the  lamp.  "O  my 
husband!  O  Martini"  The  sea  which  had  been  a 
welcome  enemy,  a  thing  to  fling  defiance  to  and 
to  yield  to  in  one  last  bout  of  struggle,  seemed  sud- 

[341] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

denly  an  abyss  of  untold  horrors;  was  that  thing 
which  would  not  destroy  her,  but  which  might  de- 
stroy him.  She  stood  motionless,  with  parted  lips, 
staring  into  the  blackness.  Behind  her  a  ship's 
lantern,  lighted  earlier  by  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  in  an- 
ticipation of  the  fact  that  sooner  or  later  the  wind 
would  put  out  the  lamp,  revealed  dimly  the  room 
and  Mrs.  Maclaughlin's  kneeling  figure,  with  its 
plain  tear-worn  face,  so  fervently  uphfted.  But 
she  saw  neither  room  nor  figure.  Her  mind  leaped 
into  the  waste  and  pictured  Martin  all  alone  in 
the  little  white  and  gold  dining-room  of  the  coast- 
guard steamer.  She  saw  the  heaving  panelled 
walls,  heard  the  hum  of  the  electric  light  motor  and 
the  pounding  of  the  engines,  felt  the  staggering 
impact  of  waves,  and  heard  the  wash  of  the  water 
as  it  swept  astern.  Martin's  face  was  white  and 
set.  He  sat  by  the  table  in  one  of  the  swivel  chairs, 
and  she  could  see  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  tassels  of 
the  little  green  silk  curtains  at  the  stern  windows. 
He  was  thinking  of  her.  Something  told  her  that 
no  thought  of  his  own  danger  had  ever  occurred 
to  him;  that,  in  that  crucial  hour,  he  could  feel 
only  for  her  facing  the  tempest  alone  in  their  home. 
His  larger  unselfishness  made  itself  felt.     And  for 

[342] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

three  hours  she  had  been  thinking  of  herself,  play- 
ing at  melodrama,  and  mouthing  heroic  quotations, 
coquetting  on  dry  land  with  a  tempest  while  the 
man  she  had  loved  was  actually  in  its  grasp  on 
the  sea!  Unutterable  self -contempt  seized  upon 
her. 

She  turned  and  met  Mrs.  Maclaughhn's  gaze. 
That  lady  had  risen. 

"Are  you  sane?"  she  inquired.  "You  Ve  been  a 
mad  woman.  I  Ve  tried  three  times  to  drag  you 
inside.     You.  did  n't  seem  awake." 

"I  'm  awake  now,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin.  I  Ve  been 
mad,  but  I  'm  sane.     My  poor,  poor  Martin."    * 

But  Mrs.  Maclaughlin,  though  a  woman  of 
prayer,  was  practical.  "You  're  drenched,"  she 
said.  She  made  Charlotte  change  into  dry,  warm 
clothing.     Still  the  storm  waxed  violent. 

"We  've  got  to  get  out  of  this,"  Mrs.  Maclaugh- 
lin said.  "Get  your  mackintosh  and  Martin's  pis- 
tols. I  've  put  up  a  basket  of  food  —  enough  for 
two  or  three  days.  The  house- has  got  to  go."  In- 
deed, it  swayed  perilously  as  they  talked. 

It  was  indeed  strange  to  be  belting  on  pistols  and 
ammunition  belts  at  that  hour  of  the  night;  but 
Charlotte  saw  that  the  older  woman  had  her  wits 

[343] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

about  her.  In  a  few  minutes  the  two  were  ready  to 
sally  forth.  Charlotte  looked  back  with  a  sob. 
**My  dear  little  home,"  she  said.  "I  've  been  happy 
here  —  the  only  happy  moments  of  my  life  have 
been  passed  here."  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  said  noth- 
ing. 

The  wind  lulled  for  a  moment  as  they  stepped 
outside.  The  glow  of  Kingsnorth's  light  brought 
recollection  back  to  Charlotte. 

*'But  why  hasn't  Mr.  Kingsnorth  come  to  us?" 
she  cried.     **He  promised." 

Mrs.  Mac  lifted  an  accusing  finger.  "He  prom- 
ised," she  said  bitterly.  "What  do  a  boozer's  prom- 
ises amount  to?  He  's  there  now  sodden  with  drink 
—  not  Christian  drink,  but  them  French  liqueurs. 
And  our  men  that  ought  to  be  here,  God  help  'em!" 

The  wind  came  back  at  that  moment  so  violently 
that  it  knocked  them  over.  They  lay  gasping  on 
their  faces,  but  they  heard  the  roar  of  falling  tim- 
bers behind  them. 

"My  home!"  Charlotte  peered  through  the  dark- 
ness, but  could  not  see. 

"Or  mine!  Well,  we  've  got  to  get  Kingsnorth 
out.     His  will  go  down  with  him  in  it." 

They  struggled  on  —  it  seemed  an  interminable 
[  344  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

time  —  to  Kingsnorth's  piazza.  They  realized  in- 
stantly from  its  groanings  and  swayings  that  the 
house  was  in  immediate  danger. 

"The  door  is  locked,"  said  Charlotte.  "We  can't 
make  him  hear  in  this  rage." 

Mrs.  Mac  took  Mac's  big  .45,  deftly  unloaded 
it,  and  slipped  the  cartridges  into  the  pocket  of  her 
mackintosh.  With  the  heavy  butt  she  struck  two 
or  three  blows  on  the  lattice  work  of  Kingsnorth's 
shell  windows.  The  opening  made  was  large 
enough  to  admit  her  hand.  She  slipped  up  the 
wooden  latch  which  falls  into  place  when  a  Filipino 
shding  window  is  drawn  to,  and  opened  a  case- 
ment. The  lamp  was  burning  brightly  on  a  table, 
and  Kingsnorth,  aroused  by  the  noise  and  Mrs. 
Maclaughlin's  repeated  calls,  was  rubbing  his  eyes 
and  staring  dully  at  their  faces  in  the  aperture. 

"Are  you  mad?"  said  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  sharply. 
"Come  out  of  here.  This  house  will  go  down  in 
a  minute." 

"I  '11  come,"  said  Kingsnorth  stupidly.  It  was 
evident  that  he  was  not  fully  awake,  but  he  stag- 
gered to  his  feet  and  came  to  the  open  casement. 
A  new  blast  came  from  the  sea,  and  they  felt  the 
floor  heave  under  their  feet. 

[345] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

"Back!"  cried  Mrs.  Maclaughlin,  seizing  Char- 
lotte's hand  and  dragging  her  backward  along  the 
veranda.  "We  have  done  what  we  could.  Oman! 
man!  the  door!  the  door!"  For  Kingsnorth  was 
still  fumbling  with  the  window,  pushing  back  an- 
other shutter  with  the  evident  intention  of  getting 
out  that  way.  In  the  outstreaming  glow  of  light, 
they  saw  the  veranda  supports  sway  and  heave. 
Then  came  a  shriek  in  the  air,  a  deafening  roar,  the 
snap  of  powerful  supports  strained  to  breaking; 
and,  as  Kingsnorth  clambered  heavily  through  the 
window,  the  same  gust  that  tipped  the  cottage  offr 
like  a  child's  house  of  blocks,  sent  both  women  to 
their  faces  on  the  wet  ground. 

Charlotte  never  could  remember  how  long  it  was 
before  she  was  struggling  to  her  feet,  clambering 
over  wrecked  bamboo  flooring,  calling  aloud  to 
the  man,  who,  she,  knew,  must  have  gone  down  with 
the  house.  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  was  by  her  side,  say- 
ing "O  my  Lord!"  at  intervals.  They  could  see 
a  crimson  glow  waxing  brighter  where  the  over- 
turned petroleum  lamp  had  set  fire  to  the  wrecked 
house;  but  it  was  not  till  its  light  grew  brilliant, 
that  they  saw  the  man  they  sought.  He  seemed 
to  be  wedged  between  an  upheaval  of  the  bamboo 

[  346  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

flooring  and  the  leaning  wall  of  the  house.     His 
forehead  was  gashed  and  he  was  unconscious. 

Charlotte's  training  stood  her  well,  and  it  was  she 
who  bent  over  him  and  tried  to  lift  him.  She 
turned  a  white  face,  then,  to  Mrs.  Maclaughlin. 

"A  piece  of  bamboo  has  entered  his  side,"  she 
said.  "We  must  break  away  these  pieces  and  free 
him.     He  will  be  roasted  if  we  are  not  quick." 

Fortunately  the  supports  of  the  floor  as  well  as 
the  floor  itself,  were  of  bamboo.  At  Charlotte's 
belt  there  hung  her  bunch  of  housekeeper's  keys, 
and  a  knife,  not  the  ordinary  penknife,  but  a  real 
household  necessity,  combining  several  domestic 
utensils.  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  owned  one  like  it,  and, 
in  an  instant,  both  women  were  hacking  at  the  stiff 
rattan  fibres,  working  with  frantic  haste  as  the  dry 
suali  lining  of  the  house  burst  into  roaring  flame. 
They  tore  away  the  long  bamboo  slats,  but  at  the 
last,  it  was  Charlotte  who  drew  out  the  broken 
piece  which  had  entered  Kingsnorth's  breast.  He 
moved  and  groaned. 

"Is  he  coming  to  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Maclaughlin,  peer- 
ing but  not  stopping.  Charlotte  shook  her  head. 
"I  hope  not,  yet,"  she  said.  "We  must  drag  him 
back  out  of  these  ruins." 

[347] 


The  Locusts*  Tears 

By  the  glow  of  the  burning  dwelling,  the  two 
women,  now  dragging,  now  lifting,  took  Kings- 
north  out  of  the  wreckage,  and  succeeded  in  car- 
rying him  some  fifty  feet  along  the  path  that  led 
to  Charlotte's  home.  There  a  clump  of  pandan 
bushes  made  a  shelter  against  the  wind,  which,  as 
if  satisfied  with  the  havoc  it  had  wrought,  ceased 
for  fully  five  minutes.  The  crimson  radiance  of 
the  fire  lighted  the  dripping  bushes,  cast  its  demon 
flickers  on  the  ocean's  rage,  and  sent  leaping  shad- 
ows among  the  broken-stemmed  cocoanut  trees. 
Charlotte  gazed  wearily  in  the  direction  of  the 
native  village. 

"They  can't  be  asleep,"  she  said.  "Why  don't 
they  come?" 

"Come!"  echoed  Mrs.  Maclaughlin.  "They'll 
not  come ;  or,  if  they  do,  it  will  be  with  evil  in  their 
hearts.  They  've  got  two  Japanese  rogues  to  lead 
them,  and  they  think  Mac  and  Martin  have  gone 
to  the  bottom;  and  when  they  find  that  this  man  is 
disabled  — "     She  paused. 

Charlotte  took  time  only  to  groan  as  she  bent  over 
Kingsnqrth,  wrapping  a  piece  of  cloth  torn  from 
her  petticoat  about  his  wounded  forehead,  trying 
to  pad  the  torn  and  bleeding  breast.     Blood  and 

[348] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

froth  stood  upon  his  lips  and  at  times  convulsions 
of  coughing  seized  him,  and  more  froth  and  blood 
were  expelled. 

"It  is  worse  than  disabled,"  said  Charlotte  slowly- 
after  what  examination  she  could  make.  "I  think 
the  lung  has  been  penetrated.  I  am  afraid  he  is 
dying."  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  pressed  her  lips  to- 
gether, but  said  nothing. 

When  Charlotte  had  done  what  she  could,  she 
sat  down  and  took  the  woimded  man's  head  in  her 
lap.  The  fire,  which  had  blazed  up  so  valiantly, 
died  out  as  it  reached  the  wet  roof,  and  another  pat- 
tering shower  extinguished  it.  The  night  closed 
about  them  again  in  impenetrable  darkness.  Only 
once,  as  the  clouds  drove  past,  a  rift  showed  for 
an  instant,  and  a  star  beamed  down  upon  them  as  if 
reminding  them  that  the  world  of  former  days  was 
still  there.  Little  by  little,  the  wind  moderated, 
the  showers  ceased,  and  the  wild  harmonies  of  the 
sea  subsided  into  a  long  rhythmic  booming  of  surf. 
In  spite  of  its  violence,  the  wind  was  soft  and  warm 
as  velvet,  and  though  they  were  damp,  chilled,  and 
uncomfortable,  what  they  had  undergone  could  not 
have  been  called  suffering. 

[  349  ] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  mental  suffering  was,  however,  far 
from  small.  As  she  strained  her  eyes 
through  the  blackness,  Charlotte  felt  that 
the  weight  of  ages  lay  on  their  aching  pupils. 
Fatigue,  despair,  and  fear  all  tore  at  her  heart. 
There  rose  always  before  her  the  vision  of  Martin 
as  she  had  imagined  him  in  the  little  coastguard 
steamer's  cabin,  and  the  cold  dread  clenched  her 
heart  that  the  waves  had  sucked  him  down  and 
down  to  the  bottomless  sea,  a  lonely,  dead  thing  in 
the  awful  vastness  of  it.  Once  only  she  spoke  to 
Mrs.  Maclaughlin. 

"Do  you  think  it  can  be  near  morning?"  she 
asked;  and  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  negatived  the  idea 
sharply. 

**It  was  about  midnight  when  we  cleared  out," 
she  said,  "and  time  goes  slowly  in  fixes  like  this." 

It  went  infinitely  worse  than  slowly.  When,  at 
last,  the  blackness  became  a  gloom  filled  with  shapes, 
and  a  pallor  showed  in  the  east,  the  two  women, 

[350] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

their  hair  in  disorder,  their  faces  drawn  and  hag- 
gard, had  hardly  courage  to  look  about  them. 
Broad  daylight  revealed  a  scene  of  desolation,  with 
the  sea  running  furiously  against  the  strewn  beach, 
and  with  the  cocoanut  grove  a  ragged  waste,  its 
snapped  boles  standing  upright  and  the  long  plumy 
tops  dragging  on  the  ground,  Kingsnorth's  charred 
structure,  their  own  homes  sprawling  drunkenly, 
and  the  distant  village  in  ruins,  presented  a  picture, 
which,  to  minds  less  engrossed  with  even  more 
heartrending  possibilities,  would  have  meant  de- 
spair. 

With  the  first  clear  light,  Mrs.  Maclaughlin 
hunted  up  her  basket  of  food  and  some  water  bot- 
tles which  she  had  deposited  at  the  side  of  the  path, 
and  each  woman  made  a  pretence  of  swallowing  a 
few  tinned  biscuit,  and  eased  her  parched  throat 
with  drink.  Charlotte  moistened  Kingsnorth's  lips, 
but  he  seemed  unable  to  swallow.  After  awhile, 
however,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  she  perceived  that 
he  was  conscious. 

He  did  not  try  to  speak,  but  looked  at  her  curi- 
ously, evidently  wondering  how  he  came  to  be  ly- 
ing on  the  ground  with  his  head  in  her  lap.  He 
stared  at  her,  nonplussed  by  her  appearance,  then 

[351] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

slowly  let  his  eyes  travel  about  him.  The  wrecked 
houses,  the  general  devastation  had,  apparently, 
significance  but  no  recollection  in  his  mind.  He 
made  a  faint  movement,  but  the  pain  stopped  him, 
and  then  she  saw  that  he  desired  to  speak  but  could 
not. 

Charlotte  bent  over  him.  "You  are  hurt,  Mr. 
Kingsnorth.  I  don't  think  you  can  remember  all 
that  happened.  After  you  went  home,  the  storm 
grew  much  worse,  and  finally  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  and 
I  perceived  that  our  houses  were  doomed.  We 
went  to  your  house  and  broke  in  a  window.  You 
were  asleep  with  a  lamp  burning  on  the  table  be- 
side you ;  we  had  some  difficulty  in  awakening  you ; 
and  when  we  succeeded,  and  you  roused  yourself 
to  come  out,  another  blast  of  wind  came.  We  had 
barely  time  to  spring  back ;  but  you  went  down  with 
the  house.  It  caught  fire  from  the  lamp  —  but  we 
got  you  out  and  dragged  you  here.  I  have  done 
what  I  could  for  your  wounds."  She  stopped,  a 
slight  vibration  in  her  voice,  and  glanced  desperately 
across  the  still  foaming  sea.  If  help  did  not  come 
to  them,  there  was  no  hope  for  Kingsnorth. 

The  man  himself  knit  his  brows  in  a  forceful  at- 
tempt at  remembrance.     Little  by  little,  the  lines 

[352] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

of  effort  gave  way  to  lines  of  bitterness.  His 
nostrils  dilated,  a  slow  painful  flush  deepened  the 
pallor  of  his  face,  and  his  lips  tightened  in  a  smile 
of  self-contempt.  Her  own  eyes  suffused  with 
pity  as  she  looked  down  on  him,  for  she  knew  that 
he  had  pieced  it  all  out,  and  that  the  self -conscious- 
ness of  ultimate  failure  and  debasement  was  over- 
whelming him.  To  be  a  man  and  yet  to  have  been 
found  wanting  at  the  supreme  hour  to  those  with 
whose  protection  he  had  been  charged  was  exceed- 
ingly bitter  to  John  Kingsnorth.  He  closed  his 
eyes,  unable  to  look  at  her,  but  presently  a  tear 
forced  its  lonely  way  out,  then  another,  and  still 
another. 

At  the  sight,  the  last  shadow  of  her  old  distaste 
and  resentment  vanished  from  Charlotte's  mind. 
She  saw  in  him  only  the  creature  maimed  and  suf- 
fering, dignified  by  the  near  approach  to  the  su- 
preme hour,  a  man  weighted  with  the  sense  of 
failure,  and  the  knowledge  that  his  last  chance  had 
come  and  gone,  and  that  it,  too,  had  passed  him 
unprofiting.  With  sudden  tenderness, —  a  feeling 
that  seemed  to  reach  forth  to  the  uttermost  con- 
fines of  desolation, —  she  gently  wiped  away  the 
tears,  and  then,  bending,  kissed  him  on  the  brow. 
23  [  353  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

He  smiled  at  her  gratefully  and  spoke  with  painful 
effort. 

"Ah  that 's  good.  I  Ve  been  lonely,  I  Ve  wanted 
a  human  hand  in  mine,  a  woman's  of  my  own  class. 
I  'm  not  all  hard  and  bad." 

The  words  came  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  and 
she  gently  pressed  her  fingers  on  his  lips  to  stop 
him.  His  hand  sought  hers  weakly,  and  held  her 
fingers  there.  Then  he  turned  his  face  to  her  hke 
a  chidden  child,  and  she  spoke  to  him  no  more. 
Only  occasionally  she  moistened  his  fevered  lips  or 
wiped  away  the  bloody  froth  that  lay  upon  them 
after  a  fit  of  coughing.  His  physical  suffering 
was  very  great,  great  enough,  she  hoped,  to  dull  the 
consciousness  of  his  dangerous  state. 

Mrs.  Maclaughlin,  as  the  day  grew  apace,  busied 
herself  in  erecting  a  low  shelter  over  the  dying  man. 
She  got  some  bamboo  poles  and  stuck  them  up, 
and  laid  on  them  a  roof  of  banana  leaves.  She 
tried  to  get  a  mattress  out  of  one  of  the  fallen 
houses,  but  was  unable  to  do  so.  She  lighted  a  fire 
of  leaves  and  old  cocoanut  husks,  over  which  she 
brewed  a  cup  of  strong  coffee.  Charlotte  drank 
it  gratefully  and  afterwards  ate  one  or  two  of  the 
long  fragrant  bananas  called  "boongoolan."     Al- 

[354] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

though  she  was  greatly  fatigued,  the  hot  drink  and 
the  food  brought  strength  back  to  her,  and  new 
courage  animated  her. 

Their  servants  and  the  village  folk  came  in  cur- 
ious groups  to  inspect  the  ruined  houses;  but  — 
sinister  omen  —  they  did  not  approach  the  whites, 
but  eyed  them  curiously  from  a  distance.  Char- 
lotte realized  that,  helpless  as  he  was,  Kingsnorth 
was  still  a  protection  to  them;  and  he  knew  it  too, 
for  once,  when  the  Japanese  diver  came  too  near, 
he  motioned  feebly  for  the  revolver  strapped  at 
Charlotte's  waist.  She  gave  it  to  him,  smihng 
faintly.  The  Jap,  however,  beat  a  retreat  as  the 
revolver  changed  hands. 

So  the  long  morning  wore  away  and  the  dying 
man  still  pillowed  his  head  in  Charlotte's  lap.  Her 
mind,  as  she  looked  down  upon  him,  was  a-surge 
with  crowding  thoughts.  Pity  was  foremost.  It 
was  indeed  pitiful,  this  slow,  painful  ending,  in 
desolation  and  loneliness,  of  a  life  that  should  have 
closed  in  dignity  and  peace.  As  the  face  grew 
whiter,  and  the  pinched  look  of  death  stole  upon  his 
features,  the  bitterness  and  the  degeneracy  seemed 
to  yield  to  what  had  been  the  once  lofty  spirit  of 
manhood  before  the  corroding  acids  of  life  had 

[355] 


The  Ltocusts'  Years 

preyed  upon  it.  Step  by  step  he  had  moved  on  the 
narrowing  path  that  ended  in  a  cul  de  sac.  He  had 
declared  that  the  fault  was  his,  and  that  if  he  had 
had  the  right  stuff  in  him,  he  could  not  have  made 
the  failure  that  he  had  made;  but  the  poor  fellow 
had  not  selected  the  elements  of  his  nature.  They 
had  been  forged  and  linked  upon  him  by  the  wills 
and  passions  of  others.  Across  the  seas,  the 
mother  who  had  contributed  perhaps  to  the  poorer 
elements  of  his  character,  and  who  had  chosen  his 
father  —  that  mother  still  lived  an  easy  luxurious 
life.  Did  she  really  think  as  little  of  him  as  he  had 
declared  she  did?  Would  no  pangs  of  contrition 
for  her  selfishness  strike  deep  at  the  roots  of  her 
complacency,  when  she  should  learn  that  her  son 
had  died  an  exile  on  the  lonely  island?  The  sisters 
who  had  played  with  him,  and  the  woman  whose 
faithless  hand  had  given  the  impetus  to  his  down- 
ward career  —  would  no  repentant  pangs  visit  them 
when  the  news  should  come  that  he  had  lived? 
There  were  other  women,  too,  as  he  had  boasted; 
women  who  had  loved  him,  in  spite  of  his  scorn. 
Where  were  they?  What  were  they  doing  as  this 
final  hour  pressed  upon  John  Kingsnorth?  Over 
in  the  Fihpino  village,  the  child  who  owed  him  life 

[356] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

sported  with  his  playthings,  ignorant  of  the  father 
who  would  never  act  a  father's  part  to  him ;  and  on 
the  sunny  hillside  mouldered  the  remains  of  the 
broken-hearted  girl  who  had  been  his  wife.  It  was 
such  a  waste,  such  a  pitiable,  useless,  extravagant 
waste  of  human  desire,  and  of  human  happiness; 
a  life  that  should  have  been  filled  with  decency  and 
respect  and  honor,  ending  so  meanly,  so  sordidly, 
beneath  the  shelter  of  a  mere  leaf -roofed  hutch. 
Her  heart  ached  for  the  sufferer,  ached  for  his 
isolation,  for  the  final  hopeless  ending  of  what 
he  had  once  hoped  would  be  an  honorable  and  happy 
career. 

It  was  almost  noon  when  Eangsnorth  roused 
again  and  declared  weakly  that  he  desired  to  make 
his  will.  In  the  pockets  of  the  coat  which  she  had 
removed  from  him  were  a  note  book  and  pencil, 
and,  at  his  dictation,  Charlotte  scribbled  down  his 
wishes  concerning  the  child  whom  he  at  last  stood 
ready  to  recognize.  All  his  worldly  possessions 
were  left  to  the  orphan,  and  CoUingwood  was  named 
as  guardian.  Kingsnorth  then  signed  the  docu- 
ment, which  both  women  witnessed.  At  his  re- 
quest Charlotte  once  again  pillowed  his  head  in  her 
lap,  and  he  kissed  her  hand  feebly  in  gratitude. 

[  357  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Mrs.  Maclaughlin  after  a  last  hopeless  look  at 
the  sea,  threw  herself  down  in  the  shade  of  the  pan- 
dan  bushes  and  went  to  sleep.  Kingsnorth  watched 
her  jealously  and  when  he  was  certain  that  she  was 
beyond  listening  or  seeing,  asked  Charlotte  for  his 
tobacco  pouch.  She  hunted  it  up  in  the  pockets  of 
his  coat,  and  gave  it  into  his  weak,  trembling  hands. 
He  fumbled  with  it,  and  at  last  drew  out  the  pearl, 
wrapped  in  tissue  paper,  which  he  had  shown  her 
on  the  day  they  discussed  Martin's  letter. 

"For  you,"  he  said  weakly;  but  at  her  flush,  and 
sudden  impulsive  gesture  of  protest,  he  went  on 
more  strongly;  "I  want  you  to  have  it.  It  means 
something  —  a  beginning  —  something  between 
you  and  want.  You  're  right :  you  must  not  sacri- 
fice yourself.  You  deserve  something  of  life. 
But  take  —  take  with  the  strong  hand." 

"But  Mr.  Kingsnorth,"  she  replied,  "I  have  not 
told  you,  but  I  am  not  going  away  from  Martin. 
I  shall  stay  by  him;  he  needs  me,  I  think.  At  any 
rate,  there  is  some  happiness  in  that  thought." 

He  frowned  slightly,  and  then  smiled.  "All  the 
more  need.  A  woman  ought  not  to  be  so  utterly 
in  a  man's  power.     We  're  merciless  wretches  — 

[  358  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

selfish."     The  effort  of  speech  seemed  to  be  too 
great. 

Seeing  that  to  refuse  him  would  cloud  his  dying 
hours,  Charlotte  ceased  to  argue  and  let  him  press 
the  bauble  into  her  palm.  It  lay  there,  the  visible 
token  of  Kingsnorth's  final  allegiance  to  the  ideals 
of  the  class  which  he  had  once  renounced.  It  was, 
as  he  had  declared,  a  something  to  stand  between 
her  and  want,  a  bridge  perhaps  in  some  hour  of 
need,  that  thing  which  might  furnish  her  with 
temporary  support  and  independence  if  she  chose 
to  set  Martin  Collingwood  and  her  marriage  vows 
aside. 

But  she  did  not  intend  to  do  so.  As  the  slow 
hours  dragged  by,  that  resolution  shaped  itself 
more  and  more  definitely  in  her  mind,  and  with  it 
there  fell  away  her  old  self -consciousness  about  the 
world's  opinion  of  her  actions.  Through  what 
throes  this  sense  of  moral  independence  had  come 
to  her,  she  knew;  through  what  it  might  yet  have 
to  pass  before  it  could  obtain  a  perfect  development, 
she  had  some  intuition;  but  in  her  ultimate  victory 
over  the  weaker  and  poorer  elements  of  her  nature 
she  had  perfect  confidence. 

[359] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

As  she  sat  on  in  the  blinding  heat,  her  life  passed 
in  retrospect  before  her,  and  something  half  bitter- 
ness, half  elation  sprang  up  in  her  soul  as  she  gazed 
upon  it.  Too  clearly  she  perceived  that  its  noblest 
features  had  been  those  which  had  most  obstructed 
the  happiness  she  yearned  for.  Her  ideals,  those 
maxims  which  parent,  teachers,  and  guardians  alike 
had  dinned  in  her  ears  as  the  guide-marks  of  life  if 
she  would  be  a  lovely  and  loveable  woman,  had  only 
served  to  isolate  her  from  human  kind;  and  so  far 
as  love  and  tenderness  had  come  into  her  life  at  all 
they  were  owing  to  a  quality  which  all  her  training 
had  taught  her  to  regard  as,  at  best,  a  weakness,  and 
at  worst,  a  shame.  A  flush  of  humiliation  stained 
her  cheek  as  she  realized  that  her  husband  had  not 
loved  her  for  her  intelligence,  for  her  truth,  for  her 
candor,  for  her  fair  judgment,  for  her  human 
charity,  or  for  that  final  tenderness  of  soul  and 
spirit  which  she  felt  welhng  like  some  crystal  stream 
in  her  bosom.  No,  it  was  for  her  capacity  for  pas- 
sion which  his  ruder  instincts  had  assumed  must  un- 
derlie the  polished  surface  of  her  mind.  Judge  Bar- 
ton, too,  had  loved  her,  had  striven  to  rouse  in  her 
an  answering  feeling  to  his  own;  but  though  he 
had  been  able  from  the  first  to  put  a  proper  value 

[360] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

upon  her  breeding  and  intelligence,  she  could  not 
blind  herself  to  the  fact  that  these  attributes  were 
mere  accessories  to  what  really  attracted  him  —  the 
development,  in  herself,  of  amorous  possibilities 
which  only  marriage  could  have  brought  about. 
She  knew  incontrovertibly,  that  if,  by  a  magician's 
stroke,  she  could  be  changed  back  into  the  girl  she 
was  when  Alexander  Barton  first  met  her,  his  in* 
terest  in  her  would  fall^flat  in  an  instant.  That  girl 
had  been  neither  priggish  nor  puritanical,  only  in- 
teUigent,  full  of  ideals,  and  emotionally  immature, 
dedicated  to  that  vision  of  womankind  which  man 
himself  has  consciously  created,  but  from  which  un- 
consciously he  turns  away,  chilled  and  rebuked  by 
its  very  perfection. 

As  she  looked  back,  she  wondered  at  herself  and 
at  her  own  temerity  in  having  dared  to  break  with 
the  teachings  of  a  life-time ;  in  having  set  at  defiance 
all  that  tremendous  pressure  which  custom,  social 
usage,  family  pride,  and  selfishness  bring  to  bear 
upon  a  girl  and  her  marriage.  It  had  taken  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  moral  courage  to  do  what  she  had 
done;  it  had  taken  still  more  to  bear  what  she  had 
borne.  But  if  out  of  endurance  there  came  knowl- 
edge,—  not    empty    maxims    and   high    sounding 

[861] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

phrases,  but  real  knowledge  of  her  own  strength 
and  of  her  own  weaknesses,  and  some  true  guiding 
sense  of  her  own  relationship  to  the  thing  we  call 
life, —  she  grudged  it  as  little  as  the  mother  grudges 
the  birth-pains  which  give  her  her  child. 

Had  she  taken  her  courage  in  her  hand  with  one 
splendid  outburst  of  defiance,  much  of  sorrow  and 
of  humiliation  might  have  been  spared  her ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  she  was  glad  that  she  had  not  done  so. 
That  sort  of  courage  is  seldom  moral;  it  is,  at  bot- 
tom, emotionalism.  She  had  gone  timidly  inch  by- 
inch  trying  to  fortify  each  step  by  her  intelligence. 
The  way  had  led  through  devious  windings:  it  had 
been  a  trial  of  endurance  for  others  as  well  as  for 
herself ;  but  in  the  end  it  was  she  who  had  come  out 
benefited.  Poor  Martin  (her  eyes  lighted  ten- 
derly) had  trodden  it  side  by  side  with  her;  but 
experience  had  brought  him  no  enlightenment. 

No:  the  real  value  of  all  those  weeks  of  pain  and 
humiliation  had  been  for  herself.  They  had  been 
a  preparation  for  the  revelation  that  had  come  upon 
her  of  the  false  ideals  which  modern  society  gives 
women.  It  was  incomprehensible  that  a  woman  of 
brains  could  have  clung  tenaciously  to  the  ideal 
which  she  had  cherished  for  twenty-eight  years ;  and 

[  362  ] 


The  Locusts^  Years 

yet,  all  her  training,  all  the  influences  which  surround 
a  "well-brought-up  girl"  had  contributed  to  it. 
What  she  had  asked  for  herself  was  a  splendid 
nullity.  She  had  expected  to  draw  her  skirts 
daintily  about  her,  and  to  pick  her  way  through 
the  drawing-room  of  life,  receiving  all,  giving 
nothing,  too  well-bred  and  too  intellectual  to  be 
tempted  by  its  passions;  and  she  had  actually  sup- 
posed this  egoistic  solitude  was  moral  elevation! 
She  had  thought  that  trampHng  upon  human  love, 
setting  aside  the  desire  for  home  and  husband  and 
children  unless  in  their  possession  she  gratified  her 
vanity  and  ambition,  was  self-respect!  Well,  she 
had  not  been  alone  in  her  delusion.  She  knew  that 
seventy  per  cent  of  her  fellow  women  would  con- 
demn her  for  having  married  Martin  Colhngwood, 
and  that  more  than  that  number  would  despise  her 
for  overlooking  the  crude  insults  of  his  letter  and  of 
his  speech  by  the  pandan  bushes.  Her  face  flamed 
as  she  recalled  them.  As  long  as  she  should  hve 
they  would  be  a  thorn  in  her  flesh,  a  scourge,  an 
agony  to  be  rehved. 

Yet  no  flagellant  ever  bent  more  meekly  under 
his  own  blows  than  Charlotte  did  as  she  resigned 
herself  to  bearing  that  cross.     His  words  had  been 

[363] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

but  the  irrepressible  utterance  of  his  own  wounded 
vanity ;  his  letter  but  the  masterful  outcropping  of 
the  man's  blind  egoism.  His  illusions  versus  her  il- 
lusions!—  after  all,  what  more  had  divided  them 
than  that?  But  greater  than  any  illusion  was  life 
itself,  the  mingling  of  distracting  hopes,  fears,  emo- 
tions, out  of  which  only  one  thing  is  permanent 
and  real,  the  consciousness  of  duty  and  right,  as 
they  are  forever  separated  from  material  advan- 
tages; the  expression  of  the  human  soul,  which 
must  move  on  struggling,  fainting,  vanquished  or 
triumphant,  asking  perhaps  for  sympathy  here  or 
understanding  there,  but  in  the  end  recording  its 
failures  or  its  victories,  companionless  and  voiceless. 

Often  and  often,  during  her  weeks  of  torment, 
a  phrase  had  crept  into  her  musings  which  she  had 
repeated  with  God  knows  what  of  bitterness :  *'The 
years  that  the  locust  hath  eaten."  In  the  clarity 
of  her  new-found  light,  it  was  those  other  years 
which  the  locusts  had  eaten  —  those  long,  empty, 
undeveloping  years  in  which  she  had  patterned  her- 
self on  a  social  ideal;  but  which  had  brought  her 
nothing  of  strength  or  of  character. 

She  went  slowly  over  the  year  of  her  life  on  the 
island.     What  had  her  association  with  the  Mac- 

[364] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

laughlins  cost  her?  A  possible  intimacy  with  a 
commissioner's  wife.  What  had  it  brought  her? 
Much  that  was  healthy  in  her  viewpoint  of  life. 
That  homely  common  sense  of  Mrs.  Maclaughlin, 
her  outspoken  dependence  upon  the  man  of  her 
choice,  her  frank  admission  of  her  sense  of  duty 
and  obedience  to  him,  had  a  wholesome  significance 
in  these  days,  when  women  have  thrown  off  all  the 
old  maxims  of  subjection  without  finding  any  new 
self-imposed  obligations.  What  had  her  year's  as- 
sociation with  Kingsnorth,  educated  reprobate, 
well-bred  degenerate,  cost  her?  An  insulting  prop- 
osition from  a  worldly  man;  but  what  a  wealth  of 
human  sympathy  and  charity  and  compassion  had 
it  not  injected  into  her  moral  and  intellectual  ex- 
clusiveness!  She  felt  the  richening  of  her  whole 
nature  that  had  come  from  putting  aside  her  pride, 
from  walking  hand  m  hand  with  an  outcast  upon 

the  highway,     ^-nrn't   :^'rf  -rc^'l-  M'^fvvr^roo  r>n7^  Krh  ^n; 

As  for  Judge  Barton's  little  drama,  it  had  not 
hurt  her  in  the  least.  Socially,  it  is  true,  it  might 
be  a  stain.  Even  the  semblance  of  an  "affair"  with 
the  respected  dignitary  might  cause  gossip.  But 
on  her  own  soul  that  interview  had  left  not  one  spot. 
It  had  soiled  nothing  in  her  but  her  pride.     She 

[365] 


The  Locusts'  Tears 

realized  that  it  is  not  dodging  the  temptations  of 
life  that  makes  character,  but  meeting  them  and 
resisting  them.  She  made  up  her  mind  that  if  fate 
should  ever  throw  her  again  into  the  society  of 
Judge  Barton,  she  would  forgive  him  frankly;  nor 
would  she  seek  to  overwhelm  him  with  her  offended 
dignity,  nor  press  upon  him  the  consciousness  of 
his  own  sins.  The  man  had  had  his  moment  of 
temptation  and  had  fallen.  He  had  wronged  no 
one  but  himself.  Far  be  it  from  her  to  decree  his 
punishment. 

Her  thoughts  turned  then  to  Martin.  The 
situation  had  its  pathos  for  him  as  well  as  for  her, 
though  perhaps  he  might  never  know  it;  for  there 
had  come  into  the  reality  of  her  feeling  for  him 
the  very  elements  which  his  own  egoism  had  most 
feared  and  hated.  She  had,  in  the  beginning 
loved  him  for  loving's  sake,  caring  nothing,  so  far 
)as  she  was  concerned,  for  his  faults  and  his  weak- 
nesses, only  too  willing  to  ascribe  to  him  the  worth 
that  he  set  upon  himself;  afraid  of  the  world,  it  is 
true,  and  hiding  from  its  condemnation,  but  secretly 
quarrelling  with  what  she  knew  would  be  its  con- 
trary judgment.  She  had  married  him  because  she 
needed  him,  because  she  leaned  weakly  upon  him. 

[366] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

Now,  when  the  experiences  to  which  he  had  sub- 
jected her  had  taught  her  to  stand  alone  and  to 
judge  independently,  she  was  taking  him  back  be- 
cause he  needed  her. 

He  had  declared  that  he  would  live  with  no 
woman  on  terms  of  pity  or  of  sufferance;  but  her 
heart  was  full  of  pity  for  him  as  it  had  never  been 
before;  and  for  the  first  time  the  consciousness 
of  her  own  real  superiority  to  Martin  entered  into 
her  feeling  for  him.  Up  to  that  hour,  she  had  ex- 
alted him  always  at  her  own  expense.  There  had 
been  no  way  of  evading  the  weight  of  what  she 
had  felt  to  be  the  world's  scorn  but  determinedly  to 
make  Martin  CoUingwood  into  something  which  he 
was  not ;  in  the  moment  of  putting  aside  that  world's 
verdict,  he  and  she  swung  as  naturally  into  their 
normal  relationships  as  a  compass  needle  swings 
back  to  its  rest. 

Henceforward  she  would  see  Collingwood  as  he 
was:  the  democrat  whose  democracy  is  but  the 
ladder  of  ambition,  the  raw,  self-made  man  reaching 
out  an  eager  clutch  for  those  finer  things  of  hfe 
which  he  knows  only  by  their  ticketed  values.  But 
that  fact  no  longer  weighted  him  with  a  quahty 
which  needed  apology  or  forgiveness;  she  saw  in 

[S67] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

it  growth,  the  only  enduring,  magnificent  thing  in 
this  universal  scheme.  In  all  nature  what  is  there 
but  growth  and  decay,  what  but  the  steady  effort 
to  arrive  at  perfection,  and  the  ensuing  death  out 
of  which  come  new  life  and  effort?  Blind  man, 
with  Nature's  unvarying  lesson  spread  before  him; 
seeks  to  defy  in  his  own  being  the  law  which  can 
never  be  successfully  defied;  would  seize  and  hold 
unchanged  that  moment  of  perfect  development 
which  precedes  decadence;  would  make  use  of  arti- 
ficial distinctions,  would  endeavor  to  strengthen 
class  differences;  would  invent  caste  systems,  and 
sell  his  very  soul  to  gratify  his  vain  hope  of  re- 
taining in  himself  or  in  his  immediate  descendants 
what  he  feels  as  the  highest  expression  of  his  own 
development.  He  has  never  done  it,  he  can  never 
do  it;  but  as  instinctively  as  the  flower  reaches  up 
to  the  sunlight,  so  must  he  ever  struggle  for  the 
prolongation  of  his  best  matured  product.  ^'>n0H 

The  question  of  Collingwood's  social  status  be- 
came in  an  instant  trivial.  She  saw  in  him  the  new 
growth,  vigorous,  wholesome,  needing  but  the  right 
soil  and  nourishment  to  develop  into  a  forest  mon- 
arch; and  she  had  in  her  the  power  to  aid  that 
growth,  and  she  had  been  minded  to  turn  her  back 

[  668  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

upon  him  because  he  had  not  found  out  what  meed 
of  consideration  was  due  her,  because  he  had  sapped 
unconsciously  of  her  strength  without  asking  him- 
self why  and  whence  it  cameltuodis  bsonBi^  3ri8 

The  thought  broke  upon  her  like  a  splendor,  that 
there  might  be  more  joy  in  helping  Martin  Colling- 
wood  to  his  perfected  state  than  there  would  be  in 
just  loving  him  or  in  being  loved  by  him.  Many 
times  she  had  repeated,  as  women.arefon4.3Of  do- 
ing, that  thrisadbare  quotation,     -^  \hjri^A  'frtid  1  . 

.:>;^-5icLn^w  ,8id  /Ifrv/  ■Qnim'^d   ,mu{  dYvrr  ^niJ-row 
JVlan  s  love  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart:- 

T is  woman's  whole  existence!  Bc4^*^  ^ 

»^'2id  •^mdi^tno^  Aiod  madi  i(/t  'i3:J'jBTiirb  hiin  alU 

and  she  had  accepted  the  common  feminine  view 

that  the  couplet  is  a  testimonial  to  man's  coarser 
nature,  and  a  subtle  tribute  to  feminine  "soul"  and 
superiority.  She  saw  in  it  suddenly  the  whole 
story  of  feminine  weakness  and  selfishness.  She 
honored  Martin  Collingwood  that  love  had  not 
been  his  whole  existence.  There  in  her  lap,  his  head 
swathed  in  bloody  bandages,  was  gasping  out  his 
life  a  man  who,  however  manly  he  might  have  been 
in  other  respects,  had  been  essentially  feminine  ii> 
his  disposition  to  make  love  his  whole  existence; 
and  who  had  felt  that  the  thwarting  of  the  one 
24  [  369  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

natural  desire  for  the  woman  of  his  choice  was  suffi- 
cient to  dull  all  the  normal  manly  instincts  of  am- 
bition and  accomplishment. 

She  glanced  about  her  at  the  evidences  of  ruin, 
and  she  bowed  her  head  in  gratitude  that  it  had 
been  her  lot  to  come  to  this  primitive  land,  to  know 
humiliation  and  sorrow  and  loneliness,  and  to  free 
herself  in  its  solitudes  from  the  false  ideals  of  her 
training.  She  looked  down  the  long  vista  of  years 
and  saw  herself  always  at  Martin's  side,  helping, 
working  with  him,  bearing  with  his  weaknesses, 
struggling  with  her  own;  but  the  end  of  it  all  was 
life  and  character  for  them  both,  something  bigger 
than  mere  loving  or  being  loved.  If  she  uttered  a 
sigh  or  two  for  what  was  irrevocably  gone,  it  was  not 
wholly  in  regret.  It  was  no  dream  life  she  was 
going  back  to,  no  Sunmaer  in  Arcady  (that  was 
past),  but  plain,  prosaic  marriage,  with  disappoint- 
ments and  misunderstandings  and  misconceptions 
to  be  outlived  and  to  make  the  best  of;  nor  was  there 
anything  but  health  in  the  thought  that  Martin 
might  find  just  as  much  to  overlook  as  she  might. 
Children  would  come  to  them,  and  she  saw  herself 
bearing  them,  rearing  them,  guiding  into  intelligent 
and    ethical    expression    the    forceful    inheritance 

[370] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

which  would  be  theirs  from  him,  finding  in  them 
the  realization  of  her  own  will  and  soul  expression, 
rejoicing  in  his  pride  in  them.  He  would  work  and 
she  would  bear, —  strange  anomaly  of  fate  that  car- 
ried back  to  its  primitive  beginnings  the  product 
of  so  much  effort  and  vanity  and  ambition ! 

The  sunshine  beat  pitilessly  on  the  leaf  shelter; 
the  fatigue  of  the  long  vigil  told  upon  her;  her 
crowding  thoughts  wearied  her.  She  held  herself 
upright  with  difficulty,  and  her  eyelids  drooped. 
Sitting  unsupported,  she  slept. 

Her  own  body  falling  forward  roused  her  after 
the  briefest  of  naps.  Her  quick  movement  to  re- 
gain her  balance  jarred  Kingsnorth,  and  he  opened 
his  eyes.  His  face  was  half  turned  to  the  sea, 
whereas  her  back  was  set  squarely  against  it;  and 
he  instantly  perceived  the  long  trail  of  a  steamer's 
smudge  borne  ahead  of  the  vessel  which  was  still 
hull  down.  He  pointed  feebly  to  call  her  attention 
to  it. 

"Good  old  Martin,"  he  murmured  weakly.  "I 
knew  —  he  —  would  come.  He  's  not  —  like  — 
me.     He  —  does  n't  fail." 

Charlotte  stared,  her  eyes  aglow,  her  face  aHame 
with  hope.     She  lifted  her  hand  to  her  throat, 

[371] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

choked  by  what  was  throbbing  there.  There  were 
hope  and  succor  fast  enough;  but  also  what  mes- 
sage of  despair  might  not  that  vessel  bring?  What 
if  she,  like  Kingsnorth,  had  delayed  too  long,  and 
the  Unseen  Powers  had  decreed  there  should  be  no 
more  chances  for  her?  Then  as  she  glanced  down, 
she  met  Kingsnorth's  intent  eyes,  puzzled,  their 
keen  intelligence  slightly  dimmed,  but  full  of  some 
question  that  he  dared  not  ask.  A  sudden  impulse 
moved  heTainisyo  lari  bn^  //iluDrftib  diiv/  id>^iiqu 
"I  want  to  tell  you  before  it  is  too  late,"  she  said 
with  difficulty,  "just  how  I  feel.  I  glory  in  Mar- 
tin Collingwood;  I  am  glad  I  am  his  wife.  I  have 
had  the  indecency  to  be  ashamed  of  myself  for 
the  most  human  and  womanly  thing  I  ever  did  in 
my  life.  Well,  I  'm  emancipated."  She  stopped, 
drew  a  long  breath,  and  broke  into  a  little,  low,  ner- 
vous laugh.  "There  seems  to  be  growing  up  a  con- 
viction among  women  that  the  only  door  of  emanci-^ 
pation  is  the  divorce  court,  and  that  the  only  way 
tic)  assert  their  personality  is  in  insurrection.  I 
don't  want  that  door.  I  had  the  effrontery  toi 
marry  Martin  Collingwood  to  be  adored  —  as  if 
either  he  or  I  or  anybody  else  has  the  right  to  make 
that  the  end  of  hf e.     That  is  the  cry  of  the  effete, 


The  Locusts'  Years 

of  the  thing  which  must  soon  fall  into  decay.  But 
Heaven  helping  me,  I  'm  going  to  make  myself  into 
a  woman,  and  I  'm  going  to  be  the  right  influence 
in  his  life.  It 's  not  going  to  be  easy  or  free  from 
heartache,  but  we '11  do  ituVuiiA  sudden  recollec- 
tion overcame  her.  Her  br'avery  dropped  from  her, 
the  light  vanished  from  her  eye.  "If  it  is  n't  too 
late,"  she  whispered,  "if  it  isn't  too  late." 

**No,  no,"  Kingsnorth  said,  though  some  torment^ 
physical  or  mental,  twisted  his  lips  into  uncouth 
shapes  as  he  dragged  out  the  words.  *'He  '11  come. 
Almighty  God  would  n't  keep  a  man  —  from  this.'.' 
With  which  words,  of  a  poetic  consistency  with  the 
weakness  which  had  been  his  undoing,  the  voice  of 
John  Kingsnorth  fell  into  eternal  silence.  For 
half  an  hour  longer,  perhaps,  his  eyes  remained 
open,  staring  curiously,  wistfully,  sometimes  at  her 
face,  sometimes  at  the  deepening  vapor  line  upon 
the  sky.  The  steamer  came  full  into  view,  a  coast- 
guard boat,  undoubtedly  heading  for  the  island. 
The  day's  heat  diminished;  the  shadows  lengthened; 
the  sea  ran  more  and  more  gently ;  and  the  light  of 
late  afternoon  deepened  to  etherealized  amber.  Its 
magic  seemed  to  bring  peace  and  resignation  to  the 
dying  man.     Once  again  with  a  pathetic  sigh  he 

[373]; 


The  Locusts^  Years 

turned  his  face  to  hers  and  tried  to  nestle  closer  to 
her  as  a  penitent  child  clings  to  the  mother  who 
has  conquered  him.  She  bent  and  kissed  him  again, 
this  time  upon  the  lips.  Shortly  after,  she  per- 
ceived that  he  was  unconscious. 

Still  the  labored  breathing  went  on  and  on  a  long 
time, —  time  enough  for  their  servants  to  gather,  a 
meek  and  hospitable  group  some  little  distance 
away,  watching  the  vessel  which  would  restore  the 
whites  to  their  old  status  on  the  island ;  time  enough 
for  the  steamer  to  drop  her  anchor  and  to  put  out 
a  boat;  but  at  last,  in  a  long  shuddering  sigh,  it 
ceased.  John  Kingsnorth,  disreputable  offspring 
of  a  proud  family,  had  gone  to  his  reckoning.  In 
time  they  would  go  to  theirs. 

For  a  few  minutes,  Charlotte  made  no  attempt 
to  move.  Then  she  gently  laid  him  down,  and  with- 
out disturbing  Mrs.  Maclaughlin  still  in  the  deep 
sleep  of  exhaustion,  dragged  herself  painfully  to 
her  feet.  The  movement  dislodged  the  pearl, 
which  had  slipped  unnoticed  into  her  lap.  She 
picked  it  up  and  stood  looking  upon  it  meditatively. 
Its  luster  had  no  sinister  significance  in  spite  of 
those  rather  revolting  confessions  of  Kingsnorth's 
about  his  musings  over  it.     It  was  just  a  beautiful 

[  374  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

"bauble,  one  of  those  shining  gauds  for  which  women 
break  their  hearts  or  with  which  they  seek  to  break 
other  women's.  It  had  no  worth  apart  from  hu- 
man vanity.  Back  of  all  its  commercial  value,  lay 
a  human  weakness. 

She  did  not  care  for  it.  She  said  to  herself  that 
she  would  keep  it  long  enough  to  learn  the  news  that 
the  boat  brought  her.  If  Martin  was  ahve,  well 
she  knew  how  quickly  he  would  repudiate  the  gift, 
how  his  man's  pride  would  revolt  at  her  having 
financial  independence  of  him.  She  could  not  but 
realize  how  utterly  his  own  self-respect  must  hang 
on  his  power  to  work  for  her,  to  give  her  the  things 
he  wanted  for  her.  Nor  did  she  wish  to  repeat  to 
him  what  Kingsnorth  had  told  her.  It  was  a  con- 
fession he  would  not  willingly  have  made  to  Col- 
lingwood;  it  was  the  woman  in  him  crying  out  to 
the  woman.  But  if  Martin  was  no  more,  then  she 
would  accept  the  gift,  thankful  for  the  help  it  would 
give  her,  knowing  well  that  Martin  would  not  have 
grudged  it. 

Stiffly  she  made  her  way  to  the  beach  and  shading 
her  eyes,  peered  at  the  approaching  boat.  The  daz- 
zle of  the  sunset  was  in  them  and  the  boat  was  well 
out;  but  someone  was  standing,   waving  frantic 

[375] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

arms  at  her.  Her  heart  gave  one  great  throb  as  she 
reahzed  that  no  one  but  Martin  would  so  energeti- 
cally have  welcomed  the  sight  of  her;  and  then  as 
it  came  nearer  and  she  saw  him  plainly,  the  throbs 
settled  into  steady,  confident  beating.  Her  chance 
had  come,  and  would  fijid  her  ready  to  profit. 
-  The  sea  was  molten  metal  shot  with  undertones 
of  steely  blue  and  opal;  huge  banks  of  cloud  were 
massed  on  the  distant  horizon,  the  hidden  sun 
pouring  down  great  shafts  of  light ;  cocoanut  trees 
were  yellow  green  in  the  radiance;  the  worn,  mouse- 
colored  nipa  roofs  were  turned  to  gold.  All  nature 
was  afire  with  beauty  and  promise.  Yet  there  in 
the  dismantled  homes  lay  a  man's  work  to  his  hand ; 
and  in  the  general  devastation  was  written  the  story 
of  wreck  and  of  failure,  the  threat  of  toil  to  restore. 
There,  too,  in  the  full  light  stood  a  woman  ready  to 
help  and  to  bear  unflinchingly  her  share  of  the  bur- 
Aitt*.' ^'  Her  dress  was  disordered;  her  hair,  that  had 
grayed  slightly  in  the  suffering  of  past  weeks,  had 
something  of  wildness  in  its  untidiness.  Her  face 
was  white,  and  would  never  again  be  youthful;  but 
iii' spite  of  fatigue  she  stood  erect,  magnificent,  a 
splendor  of  purpose  in  her  eyes,  a  woman  entered 
into  her  heritage,  tried,  self-confident,  sure  of  her- 

[376] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

giglfb)  //(Though  he  would  never  know  it,  though  he 
was  destined  to  go  on  to  the  end  in  his  fool's  para- 
dise of  indomitable  ignorance,  Martin  Collingr 
wood,  most  masculine  of  masculine  types,  who  had 
vowed  that  no  woman  should  ever  rule  him  or  pat- 
ronize him,  accepted,  in  that  hour,  the  terms  he  had 
repudiated,  and  thrust  his  neck  rapturously,  for  all 
time,  beneath  the  yoke  of  petticoat  government. 
s  CoUingwood  and  Maclaughlin  were  both  on  their 
feet,  the  one  feasting  his  eyes  on  the  woman  he 
loved,  the  other  searching  with  dread  premonition 
of  evil  for  the  form  dear  to  him.  Neither  at  that 
moment  gave  a  thought  to  the  destruction  that  had 
overtaken  what  they  had  built,  or  to  the  tedious  steps 
to  be  retraced,  the  effort  of  accomplishment  to  be 
re-done.  That  was  for  later;  that  was  life  in  their 
sturdy  acceptation  of  it.  But  just  before  the  boat 
grounded  they  saw  Charlotte  lift  one  hand  with  an 
easy  graceful  movement  and  toss  some  gleaming  ob- 
ject into  the  sea.  They  even  heard  the  tiny  splash 
it  made,  and  saw  the  ripples.  Neither  gave  it  a 
second  thought ;  it  might  have  been  a  pebble  picked 
from  the  beach,  or  some  equally  valueless  trifle. 
Little  did  Martin  dream  that  it  was  the  last  fagot 
she  possessed  laid  upon  the  altar  of  his  self-esteem. 

[  377  ] 


The  Locusts'  Years 

As  the  boat's  keel  grated  on  the  sands,  however, 
both  men  sprang  out  and  splashed  their  way  to  her. 
She  stood  smiling  clearly,  steadfastly,  into  her  hus- 
band's eyes ;  and  as  he  gathered  her  with  a  sob  into 
his  arms,  Maclaughlin,  obedient  to  her  slight  ges- 
ture, tore  past  them  to  the  low-roofed  shelter  whither 
she  motioned  him.  Collingwood,  raising  his  eyes 
as  he  lifted  his  lips  from  his  wife's,  saw  the  man's 
abrupt  halt  and  recoil;  then  beheld  him  uncover  at 
the  sight  of  the  sleeping  woman  and  their  dead 
comrade. 


THE   END 


[378] 


AF 


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